


lost beneath the turning wheel

by elouanwrites



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Asexual Character, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Relationships, Found Family, Gen, Kidnapping, Lesbian Character, Loss of Limbs, Nightbrother Culture (Star Wars), Nightsister Culture (Star Wars), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Planet Dathomir (Star Wars), Planet Tatooine (Star Wars), Rating May Change, Slavery, Trans Character, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elouanwrites/pseuds/elouanwrites
Summary: A culture born of subservience and power had sustained itself thus for countless centuries, defiance in the face of it small but meaningful. An ember fed with the worship of free will was then dropped in the kindling of that defiance. Fan the flames with the bitter rage of another spark, and a firestorm will sweep the galaxy.Desmond Miles and Clay Kaczmarek both expected to die, one a weary, resigned sacrificed for the sake of the world, the other the last remnants of a broken man sacrificed for one person and his own need tomatter. Neither one of them ever expected to meet again after that last, desperate moment.They were both wrong.
Relationships: Clay Kaczmarek | Subject 16 & Desmond Miles
Comments: 406
Kudos: 343





	1. Ehsun and Terror

**Author's Note:**

> ty Cher for your enabling and your beta read you are a delight <3

* * *

Ehsun hadn’t wanted a child. She had interest in neither the process nor the outcome. When her sisters boasted of their conquests, all smug laughter and sly grins, Ehsun rolled her eyes and went back to her books. When her mother subtly, then increasingly more blatant as the years went on started hinting that Ehsun should do her duty to the clan and produce an heir, she left the room and left the room and eventually left the house, leaving to make her home elsewhere away from her mother’s lecturing. What need did she have for a child when she had her research to occupy herself with? She was perfectly content, thank you, and had no desire to bear and birth and tend to the needs of some squalling brat.

She miscalculated. She underestimated the strength of her mother’s desire for an heir to follow her. When she received the summons from Mother Talzin she went gladly and willingly. When she received the order from Mother Talzin to choose a mate and bear a child, she was much less glad. Her mother had petitioned the Clan Mother to override Ehsun’s wishes, and she had agreed. What a terrific inconvenience. But Mother Talzin was not to be denied, so to the nightbrothers’ village Ehsun went. A short, terse conversation with Brother Victus later, the men gathered for her perusal, and she walked among them silently.

As she had expected, not a single one was in any way appealing. They were all so... _dull_. They stood before her mostly expressionless, though some of them were undisciplined enough to show unease or fear. Definitely none of those, she had even less interest in a cowering male than she did in males in the abstract. She waved them away, ignoring their poorly hidden relief, and sighed again. Her mother really was insufferable. She could be doing literally _anything_ else and it would be far more rewarding.

Out of patience with the whole affair Ehsun chose the next male her eyes rested on, a tall, lithe figure of sunny gold with deep red markings and dark horns. He wasn’t hideous, at least. With a huff of distaste, she ordered him onto her speeder and took him back towards her home. Her quiet, peaceful home, soon to be _invaded_ by a noisy, messy child, and even sooner by this...actually pleasantly quiet male. He didn’t say a word after his soft agreement to her claim, just calmly settling behind her on the speeder.

Even once they arrived he stayed quiet, his head down and his footsteps silent as he followed her into the apartment. He stood near the door patiently, waiting for instruction with his eyes down. Ehsun frowned. As someone with no interest in pursuits of a physical nature, she had spent precious little time around males in her life, seeing them largely in passing. She wasn’t expecting them to be so... _passive_. Then again with how her sisters would speak of them, perhaps his passivity was a learned trait. Judging by the tempers of some of her fellows, she imagined that defiance would not be well received.

Throwing herself down on the low couch with a huff, she casually waved her hand at a nearby chair. “Sit, don’t just stand there like a statue,” she said sharply. He hesitated for a moment, as though surprised by the order, then swiftly made his way over and perched awkwardly on the cushion. She frowned again, already tired of this interaction. If he was this timid the whole time he would definitely try her patience before long. Perhaps he just needed some coaxing.

“What is your name,” she asked, modulating her tone closer to neutral than her usual imperious snap.

He shifted, his hands clasped on his knees, and dipped his head in a small bow. “I’m called Terror, sister,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on the ground.

Ehsun gave him an acknowledging hum, then studied him quietly for a moment. From a purely aesthetic standpoint he was quite striking. The contrast of the pale gold and dark red on his skin was pleasant to look at. He was well muscled, trim and tall. His facial features were uncommonly symmetrical, which seemed to be something people looked for in a mate, from her observations. At least the genetics her future daughter would receive wouldn’t be a disadvantage to her. Ehsun may not _want_ the child, but she also didn’t want the child to be a poor asset to her clan. He would do.

“You can stop looking so twitchy, Terror,” she said with a bored drawl. “I’m not going to _hurt_ you. All I need is your genetic material and nine months of your time, then you can go back to your little village and forget all about this entire endeavour.”

“My—my what?” he asked faintly, looking more confused than frightened.

Ehsun sighed deeply. Of _course_ the males were uneducated, what need did they have for science when they were born to serve their betters? “Nevermind, you don’t need to worry about the details,” she said dismissively. “You just need to expel some semen into a container, I’ll handle the rest.”

Terror flushed, suddenly and deeply, his entire face darkening to a ruddy orange. Ehsun almost laughed at him, but refrained out of an uncharacteristic sense of compassion. The male was clearly out of his depth, no need to make the poor thing even more uncomfortable when he’d be acting as her servant for the entire gestation of the child.

“Well!” she said suddenly, with a clap of her hands that made Terror flinch back slightly, which—she regretted, startling him. His quiet presence was so far inoffensive, unlike most of her sisters. She...didn’t _want_ him to be afraid of her. “No time like the present. Let’s get this over with so I can get back to my work.”

She stood and headed toward her small private lab, Terror quickly following when she gestured for him to come along. It was a lucky thing indeed that she happened to recall a tangential mention of artificial insemination in an article about ion radiation and its effects on biological tissue. She could comply with Mother Talzin’s command with no need to endure the typical method. Simple, clinical, reliable.

She did so despise unnecessary mess.

Fully aware of the restrictions she would be operating under while the child was gestating, Ehsun had already cleared her lab of potentially dangerous substances. The sterile white space was almost bare, and it caused a pang in her heart to see it so void of experimentation and curiosity. With a melancholy sigh she retrieved the canister, dropping it unceremoniously in Terror’s hands. He held it as though it were an unstable plasma grenade, staring at it with baffled horror.

“It’s not going to bite you,” she said in an awkward attempt at reassurance, not surprised when he didn’t appear to be reassured. Firmly repressing yet another sigh she took the canister back and demonstrated how to open it for him. “Just...you know. Do whatever it is you do to expel your semen and put the lid back on, then come out and tell me whenever you’re done.”

Ridiculous. This entire business was pointless and ridiculous and her mother was going to _hear_ about it. Surely she could come up with a suitable revenge for the indignity of this experience. Maybe Terror would help? He must have _some_ ideas.

His face once again more orange than gold, Terror took the canister back and bobbed a sharp nod. Judging by his grimace he was too embarrassed to agree verbally, so Ehsun just nodded back and swept out of the room, closing the door behind her. She didn’t linger nearby, having no idea how long the entire process would take. Instead she set about preparing a small, unused room for Terror to stay in while he was with her.

Judging by what she had seen of the shabby village he lived in, a simple futon and a few blankets would probably seem the height of luxury. The thought was less amusing than she might have anticipated. Instead she felt...uncomfortable. She had never given a single thought to how the nightbrothers lived when they weren’t in her line of sight, and she was finding her recently acquired knowledge to be...somewhat distasteful.

Shaking the thought off she finished with the room, leaving it sparsely but comfortably supplied, and went back out to her couch. The lab door was still closed. She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her biceps and staring at the ceiling. Uncrossed her arms and stretched her hands and wrists, one precise, measured movement at a time. Crossed her arms again. Began tapping her feet against the low table in the obnoxious beat of her mother’s favorite song, forever ready and waiting to pop up in her brain and linger obnoxiously. How long could this possibly _take?_

With an impatient huff Ehsun got up from the couch and headed into her small kitchen. It was nearing lunch time, after all, may as well ready a meal while she was waiting for Terror to get with the program. She was half through assembling a simple meal of cured meats and fruit by the time she heard the door open again. She stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, to find Terror hovering awkwardly near the lab with the canister clutched in his hands, still flushed a brilliant orange. Ehsun hesitated, then stiffened her spine and strode over to take the canister.

He released it into her hands with relief, looking anywhere but at her face, then clasped his hands together and took a quick step back. “What—what would you like me to do now?” he asked diffidently, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Ehsun paused on her way back into the lab, and stared blankly ahead. What _did_ she want him to do? She’d had vague ideas of him acting as a sort of servant while she was pregnant, but she wasn’t pregnant yet. And she wouldn’t need much waiting on until the very latest stages of the pregnancy anyway, if even then. She’d managed fine this long without a servant of any kind, what would she even have him _do_? She turned to look at him, considering. He still looked desperately embarrassed, nervous, uncertain.

She frowned. “Nothing, at the moment,” she said finally. “Go eat some lunch, there’s food in the kitchen. I have work to do, don’t interrupt me unless it’s urgent.”

With that she swept into the lab and closed the door, leaving Terror to his own devices. Surely even a male could manage to occupy his time without causing any trouble in her apartment. She had more interesting things to think about. Time to see if she could replicate the process she had only read about, or if she needed to acquire a medical droid to assist her.

Surely it couldn’t be too difficult.

* * *

Terror thought he knew what to expect when he was chosen by the nightsister. He may never have been singled out by a nightsister before, but they all _knew_ , either secondhand from a brother who returned, or by rumor when a brother... _didn’t_ return. So when the tall, pale nightsister with ash gray tattoos chose him he knew what was to come, knew that he may not ever see his home again.

But Ehsun was nothing like he expected. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She was haughty, commanding, superior and harsh. All of that was in line with everything he knew about nightsisters. But she was also—no, not _kind_ exactly, but—hesitant, maybe? Awkward, definitely, but not cruel. She seemed almost uncomfortable with his presence, and it left him wondering why she had commanded it in the first place. Aside from the unavoidable contact between them on the speeder ride back to the nightsisters’ compound, she never touched him once.

As awkward and embarrassing as her method to acquire his— _genetic material_ was, it was an unlooked-for reprieve from what he’d expected to happen. Over the next several days as he slowly learned Ehsun’s habits, he realized she had no more desire to participate in this aspect of their culture than he did. He found himself softening towards the abrasive nightsister, feeling less and less urge to flinch when she snapped and huffed at him. When she failed to decide on any tasks or duties for him, he just...took up the same things he would do at home in the village. Keeping the apartment neat, cooking the meals, simple housekeeping.

Ehsun would occasionally watch him with bemusement but leave him to it, burying herself in her holobooks and stacks of flimsi notes. Eventually she started reading aloud, using him as a sort of captive audience for her scientific musings. At first all of it went well over his head, and he waited nervously for her to demand a response that he would inevitably fail to provide, but all she seemed to want from him was a listening ear as she expressed her thoughts. Eventually, however, he started to grasp some of the concepts she was expounding on, and his desire to learn more kindled. Curiosity was not something desired in a nightbrother, and he’d been more than once discouraged from indulging in it for his own safety, so he tried to reign it in.

To no avail. The first time he interrupted one of Ehsun’s rants to ask a clarifying question he could have kicked himself. It just—slipped out, caught up as he was in her line of thought. He felt the blood drain from his face when she stopped talking to stare at him, her dark eyes glinting strangely. He was moments away from a groveling apology when she just...answered the question, her tone matter of fact and her expression considering. He was on edge the rest of the day, but she made no mention of his lapse in propriety.

The next evening, he found a datapad on his bedroll when he turned in for the night. It wasn’t password protected, and when he turned it on he found it filled with module after module of educational materials, in a staggering array of subjects. He had to set it back down when his hands started trembling. There was no way to misinterpret it as anything but a gift, and he had no idea how to respond other than to wrap his arms around himself and just...breathe through the feeling.

She never mentioned it, even when he cautiously brought it out in front of her and started working on the modules curled up in what had become his chair. If she started leaving pauses in her one-sided conversation, glancing over at him casually, neither of them acknowledged it. When Terror slowly, then with increasing confidence started offering his own thoughts in those pauses, her small, smug smile went unremarked.

As her pregnancy began to show she got more and more irritable, but he found her moods easier to navigate whenever he set his eyes on the datapad she’d given him. He kept her supplied with her favorite snacks and drinks, made sure she didn’t have to lift a finger to maintain their living space, and kept his tone calm and pleasant even when she was at her most biting. She never apologized for snapping, but as the months wore on he noted that she did it less and less often, even as she grew more uncomfortable. Every now and then he even caught her looking... _regretful_ , when she was particularly acerbic. As though she _wanted_ to apologize but didn’t know how.

He felt almost content, despite the isolation. Ehsun was the only person he saw, and he had been accustomed his entire life to being surrounded by other nightbrothers very near constantly, but them both being less than willing participants in the affair lent a sense of camaraderie that he found soothing. Knowing that his time there was finite probably helped in that respect. The only other voice he heard was that of Ehsun’s mother, and that only over holocall. Their relationship seemed fraught at best, and Terror found himself grateful she never came in person.

The months passed slowly, and the swell of Ehsun’s stomach grew and grew. Terror found it fascinating, in a faintly horrified way. It looked so very uncomfortable, and judging by her grimacing and complaining it was. Eventually she was large enough that just moving around was a trial, and she spent the vast majority of her time in a pile of pillows on her low couch while Terror brought her writing materials and sustenance. She rarely left the apartment, going out only for medical checks and on the occasional shopping trip, and every time she came back looking even paler than normal.

But then, during Terror’s seventh month as Ehsun’s personal servant, she drifted in the door from her appointment like a ghost, her tattoos standing out sharply on her paler than normal skin. She didn’t seem to even register his presence as he fluttered around her anxiously, wandering over to sink onto her couch and stare at the wall in a daze. Terror knelt on the floor in front of her, nervously waiting for her to acknowledge him so he could ask her what was wrong.

Eventually she blinked, turned, made eye contact, and her brows drew together as she frowned. “Why are you on the floor,” she rasped, her voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

He twitched, shifting under her stare. “I—I was worried,” he said quietly, looking away. “You were acting strange. Are you alright?”

She stared for a moment longer, then relaxed back into the cushions with a weary sigh to glare up at the ceiling. “Not in the _least_ ,” she muttered resentfully. “Not one, but _two_ babies. What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Terror blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, then his eyes widened as he realized her meaning. “...Oh,” he said faintly, rolling off his knees to sit directly on the floor, directing his own blank stare at the wall. Two. Two babies. He was going to be a father twice, and he’d still never once slept with a female. What was his _life?_

The knowledge didn’t really change anything. He still kept taking care of the house and reading through the modules on the data pad, kept waiting on Ehsun hand and foot and shyly engaging with her theoretical scientific musings whenever he had something to say. If he stared at the swell of her stomach a little more often, curious and terrified in equal measure, Ehsun either never noticed or never cared enough to mention it.

Their routine continued unbroken, until one night in the middle of Terror’s eighth month in Ehsun’s home. He awoke with a start when the door to his small room slid open with a hiss, lurching upright. Ehsun was standing in the doorway clutching at her stomach, leaning heavily against the doorway. Terror felt a cold rush of panic and scrambled to his feet, anxiously reaching forward to support her then abruptly pulling back before touching.

“What is it?” he asked sharply. “Is—are you hurt?”

Ehsun grimaced, her hand clenching on the doorframe. “I don’t know,” she answered breathlessly, looking as close to frightened as Terror had ever seen her. “Do you know how to drive a speeder?”

He nodded jerkily, his panic rising but not daring to ask for an explanation even now. He dragged on his tunic and hesitated for a split second before offering her his arm. She also hesitated, glancing up at his face with a blank expression, then slowly wrapped her arm around his and let him take some of her weight as they turned toward the door. They made their way outside and around the corner to where Ehsun had parked her speeder, and he carefully helped her get situated on the back of it, pausing when she gasped and curled into herself to let her ride out the pain, then hopping on himself and starting it up. Haltingly, she wrapped her arms around his waist as far as she could with the swell of her stomach in the way.

The reversal of their positions from the last time they’d been on the speeder was a strange dissonance, and the feel of her pressed against him was surreal enough to send his thoughts wheeling right out of his head, leaving a shocked blankness behind. Fortunately he didn’t need to think to follow her directions, and soon enough they were stopping outside a small building standing alone away from the main towers. Ehsun was only halfway to getting down when another nightsister came rushing out to take charge, shoving Terror out of the way and supporting Ehsun herself. He stumbled back against the speeder, immediately dismissed by the nightsister healer.

Ehsun cast him one quick glance before disappearing into the building, and it sent a pang through his chest. She looked— _afraid_. He hated it. He slumped to the ground against the side of the speeder, dropping his head into his hands, and shuddered. Nothing for him to do but wait. Maybe someone would take pity on him and tell him what was going on at some point, but until then…just _wait_.

Hours. Hours and hours, he sat silently in the dust, occasionally standing to stretch the cramps from his legs and walk around the speeder in nervous circles. Not having a chrono he didn’t know how many hours it was, but the sky was lightening by the time someone came out of the clinic.

It was the nightsister who had pushed him, and she sneered as he scrambled to his feet. “Brush yourself off, male,” she ordered sharply. “Ehsun commands your presence, and I won’t have you fouling my clinic.”

“Yes, sister,” he said quietly with a jerky bow of his head. He did his best to quickly pat the dust from his clothes, flushing under the sister’s judgemental stare. He’d grown too used to Ehsun after all this time, the typical nightsister attitude was a harsh wakeup after her gruff version of courtesy.

When the healer finally deemed him acceptable she turned on her heel and marched back inside, and he scrambled to follow. She led him through the entrance and down a short hallway, gestured imperiously at a closed door, then strode off in the other direction. Terror hesitated, ruthlessly repressing a tremble in his fingers, then darted his hand out to touch the door sensor. It slid open and there was Ehsun, laying exhausted and pale in a pile of blankets on a narrow bed, holding two small bundles of cloth in her arms and staring down at them in bemusement.

After a moment she seemed to realize that the door had opened, turned her gaze to him instead. “...Terror,” she said raspily, her voice a hoarse whisper compared to her usual clear, strident tone.

“Ehsun,” he whispered back, his eyes flicking between her and the bundles as he nervously hovered near the door.

She blinked, then rolled her eyes. “Get over here, stop standing there like a nervous eopie.”

Terror let out a breath of relief at a return to some semblance of normal, and slowly approached the bed. She carefully turned the bundles out just enough for him to see a pair of tiny, scrunched up faces. One of them was just as pale as their mother, a soft, warm-toned light gray. The other—he felt his heart leap and his stomach drop at the same time as powerfully conflicted emotions swamped him. His own bright gold coloring reflected back at him, the dark blood red of his markings also adorning the tiny, round cheeks of his son.

Terror’s breath stuttered in his chest and he leaned suddenly against the side of the bed, weak-kneed. “ _Oh_ ,” he whispered, a trembling hand reaching out to brush his finger feather light against the sharp red triangle below the child’s eyes. Just like his own. He sniffed, blinked, startled to feel wetness on his cheeks.

Eshun’s face went completely blank, her eyes a little wild as she stared. “What,” she snapped, fingers tightening around the children. “What is it?”

Terror pulled back and wiped his face on his arm with a watery, miserable laugh. “Nothing, sorry, I’m—sorry, just—” He took a breath, then another, gathering his composure under her watchful gaze, then offered up a melancholy smile. “A boy,” he said simply. “I’ll get to see him, and watch him grow, but...he’s a boy.”

Ehsun’s expression twisted and she looked down at the boy, a conflicted furrow in her brow. “Yes,” she said quietly. “He’s a boy. You’ll take him with you back to the village, raise him and keep him. And the girl is mine, the heir of my clan.” She paused, looking up at him almost _cautiously_. “Perhaps,” she started, paused, visibly mulling over her words before continuing. “Perhaps I will call on you to attend me, now and then.” She looked away with an embarrassed frown, back down to rest her eyes on her daughter. “To aid me in my work, of course. You make an...acceptable assistant. And if you’re going to be working you’ll need to bring your son with you, it only makes sense not to leave him in the care of others.”

Terror stared, overwhelmed. It had never once occurred to him that he would be permitted to even meet his daughter, and it sounded like—Ehsun was offering to let him be a part of her _life_ , at least in some small way. And maybe she even wanted to know her son as he grew. His lack of ability to answer drew an irritable frown to Ehsun’s face, and he barely refrained from laughing aloud. He’d grown strangely fond of her moods, and was much reassured by the return of that pissy loth cat face.

“Of course,” he said softly, grateful. “I am at your service whenever you have need of me, sister.” His lips curled in a soft smile as he looked back down at his son. _His son._ It hadn’t really ever occurred to him to want a child, but now that he had two he couldn’t imagine giving them up without a fight, and she was just...offering. What he had thought would be a nightmare had turned into one long, hazy and improbable dream, and he didn’t want to wake from it.

She hummed, a smug look replacing the frown. “Good. Now take them, I want to sleep.” Unlike Terror, Ehsun didn’t bother to refrain from laughing at him when his face spasmed in panic. “They’re not going to attack you, idiot. Just take them.”

She watched, amused as he cautiously relieved her of first one bundle than the other, holding them close to his chest in a desperately tender grasp and slowly sinking to the floor. Carefully he settled them in his lap, running the pads of his fingers across their soft cheeks and just—staring, rapt. His children. They were _beautiful_.

Ehsun snorted, as amused as ever by his sentimentality, and he grinned up at her without shame.

“I’ve decided,” she said with her usual imperious tone, though it was weaker than usual after her ordeal. “I’ve decided that you will be staying with me for at least several weeks more, until I no longer have need of your assistance.”

Terror’s grin softened and he nodded his head in a bow before returning his gaze to the bundles in his lap. “All right,” he said quietly, leaning forward to brush a gentle kiss on the brow of each of them. “As long as you need me, I will stay.”

Ehsun hummed, pleased, and slowly drifted off while Terror hovered over their children with a full heart and tender hands. He would stay as long as he was permitted, and he would return to see his daughter as often as he was allowed. Maybe growing up knowing her brother would be good for her. He hoped so. With a quiet sigh he set himself to keeping a silent vigil over his children and their mother, with hopeful thoughts for his future for possibly the first time in his life.

* * *


	2. Viscus and Ahjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty doodles and cher for the beta you beautiful humans! also this chapter contains depiction of incidental minor harm to a child, take care of yourselves <3

* * *

The moment nightsister Ehsun Nedot chose Terror to serve her, Brother Viscus wrote him off as lost to them. He knew what it meant when a scientist who had never shown interest in lustful pursuits decided to seek out a nightbrother. It meant that she had a _use_ for him, that she had some experiment or procedure she wanted to test out before trying it on someone more valuable. And Viscus was well aware that Nedot was a scientist. It was his _job_ to be aware of any nightsister that may prove to be more than typically dangerous to his brothers.

If he did not know who might be more of a threat, who might be less likely to return one of his brothers alive, then how would he know who to carefully steer away from those brothers that were vital to the function of the village? How would he know who he needed to keep from setting her sights on their blacksmith, or their teacher, or gods forbid their _healer_ , poorly educated and ill-equipped though he may be? He wouldn't know, and he would fail, and the village would collapse, and he wouldn’t be the only one punished for it. And so, Viscus _made it his business to know_.

All of this meant that when Terror returned, not only alive but in even better health than he left and with a son in tow, Viscus was shocked speechless for the first time in his life. Nedot brought him back herself, perched behind her on a speeder the same way he left them, but this time with a sling around his chest and a squirming bundle inside it. Viscus stood silent and numb in the square as they stopped and Terror hopped lightly off, turning to give Nedot a low bow with his burden clutched carefully close. They spoke quietly, too quietly for him to hear the words. The nightsister’s expression was harsh, almost angry as she glanced from Terror to the village and back, but Terror’s face was arranged in its typical calm, gentle smile.

After a few more words Terror bowed again, the nightsister gave him a sharp nod, and away she went, her speeder leaving plumes of dust behind as it sped back toward the clan compound. Terror watched her go for longer than he would have expected, longer than any nightbrother he’d ever seen once a nightsister was done with him. Usually they were so glad to be home they nearly ran into the shelter of the village, but the line of Terror’s form seemed almost...sad as the nightsister vanished from sight. How peculiar.

But then again, Terror grew attached to others quicker than most. He had always been a sweet boy, prone to smiles and free with his affection, and he had grown to be a pleasant young man. Viscus was—relieved, to see him returned to them. The village had few bright, warm lights, and losing even one of them was always a tragedy. He felt his expression soften from its usual rigid serenity as Terror turned to smile at him, and he welcomed him back to the village with a small nod.

It wasn’t their way to ask a brother about their time with the nightsisters, so despite his curiosity he held his tongue, instead glancing down at the bundle held so tenderly against Terror’s chest. “So you bring us a new brother,” he said quietly, as warm as he could manage with the pity welling up in his chest. A new nightbrother was a cause for both celebration and mourning. A new brother to love and care for, but also a new brother for him to try, and almost definitely _fail,_ to protect.

Viscus smothered his feelings as he’d long ago learned was necessary. It left him feeling cold, his face an impassive mask, and the fading of Terror’s smile gave him a pang of regret that he also crushed. His position didn’t allow for regret, not if he was going to be effective at maintaining their community as a whole.

Viscus reached out to pull aside the wrapping hiding the child’s face, raising a brow at gold skin and the deep red of his cheek markings. He hadn’t expected that to breed true from Terror, as unusual as it was, but it appeared that it did. He glanced up at Terror’s now nervous expression, and unbent enough to allow himself a small smile.

“He’s small, but a fine little brother you’ve brought us,” he said quietly, giving the young man a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “We will hold his naming and marking tonight.” Terror’s surprised joy at even that small sign of approval twisted in his chest, and Viscus smoothed his face and turned away, leaving the rest of the nightbrothers to surround their returned brother with warm welcome and relief. He had a ceremony to prepare for.

He didn’t see Terror again until just before the naming. His bright gold coloring stood out against the dusk, catching the flickering torch light at the edges of the sanctum. From within the depths of his deep ceremonial hood, Viscus allowed himself one small, fond smile before striding forward to the altar and its deep basin. The gathered nightbrothers immediately hushed their conversations, all eyes turning to face him expectantly. Slowly, feeling the weight of ceremony and tradition settling on his shoulders, he raised his hands above his head for a single sharp clap.

Terror swallowed, visibly anxious and clutching his son to his chest, but obediently stepped forward. Viscus remained impassive, and when he spoke his voice was low and challenging, a sharp bite where there was usually calm certainty. “Who brings this child to become our nightbrother?”

Terror let out a breath slowly, chewing nervously at his lip and glancing at the elaborately carved basin between them. “I bring this child, Brother Viscus.”

The young man’s voice trembled ever so slightly, and Viscus ached to reassure him, but instead went on with the ceremony by rote. “And by what right do you claim this child as one of us?” Out of necessity his tone was cold. Not for the first time did he long for a warmer welcome for his little brothers than this witch designed oppressive ritual.

“By right of progenitor I claim this child, Brother Viscus,” said that soft voice, growing stronger with conviction.

That almost sounded _proud_ , and it warmed Viscus’ cold, craggy heart. “Then one of us, he shall be,” he said firmly, reaching both arms forward over the altar’s basin. Terror reluctantly unwrapped his son from his blanket and held him out, placing him gently in Viscus’ hands. He really was small, tiny even. The boy’s eyes opened slowly when he changed hands, a small shiver shaking his frame at the sudden chill. He looked around for a moment then turned to stare at the new figure in his vicinity, blinking up at Viscus and waving one small gold fist. Viscus felt a small chill at the strangeness of the child’s expression. It was calm, with an edge of something subtly uncanny.

Slowly, ceremoniously, Viscus lowered the boy into the basin. A frisson of dread shuddered up his spine when the only reaction from the child at being slowly submerged in thick red fluid was a small grimace of discomfort. Even when the symbols etched into the rim of the basin began to glow a sickly green, all he did was look at them curiously. Viscus had performed this ceremony many times over the years, and no other child was this serene in the center of the sanctum. When the boy finally started to cry and squirm as the witches’ potion reached up from the bowl and crawled across his skin Viscus nearly let out a gasp of relief.

Practiced hands kept the boy from escaping his grasp, and it wasn’t long before the potion had finished seeping into skin. Blood red marks crawled across gold, as deeply unsettling as it always was, and Viscus and Terror watched breathlessly as the marks began to form. They were sharply defined, deeply angled lines and triangles, some of them with slight curves. His face was dominated by a strange, broken xesh marking him from forehead to chin and curving up onto his cheeks with small spikes. The boy was still choking out soft, hitching sobs and whines as the marks fully settled, his skin inflamed and puckered up around them. Terror’s hands twitched and his face twisted in pain, leaning helplessly toward his son with a clear desire to snatch him back and comfort him.

Instead of handing him over Viscus raised him up, presenting him to the rest of the village. “Behold, Nightbrothers!” he shouted, his voice a rasping cry that somehow managed to echo against the sanctum’s walls. “Behold your new brother, Dread!”

The crowd roared in approval, and with the ritual finally complete and the child named, Viscus was free to return him to his father. Terror lurched forward with the blanket in his hands, wrapping it around the boy as he took him back and clutched him to his chest, desperately shushing his gasping cries. With a sheen of tears in his eyes Terror thanked him hoarsely and backed away, rapidly being enveloped by the joyful crowd. Viscus watched him go, standing solemn and alone behind the altar as his brothers filed out of the sanctum to go celebrate their new little brother.

Days passed, weeks, months, with Viscus only seeing Terror and little Dread in passing if at all. The village may not be large, but there were always plenty of things that needed Viscus’ attention, and as the nightbrother who answered directly to Mother Talzin he was set apart from his brothers by necessity. It wasn’t until the next gathering for a nightsister’s trials that Viscus interacted with either of them again, and that was only long enough to send Terror out of the village on a hunting trip to keep him out of the way. It never ended well when a father with a very young child was chosen, so it was an unspoken rule that they would have urgent need for meat whenever there was a trial until the child reached at least six cycles.

Three trials Terror spent out in the swamps, but the fourth visitor from the nightsisters’ compound wasn’t just any sister seeking a mate. It was Nedot, and this time she was seeking Terror specifically. Viscus sent a summons immediately, then waited in silence before the impatient witch. Her tapping foot was a metronome, precisely measured even as her eyes narrowed with impatience. Anxiety ratcheted up Viscus’ spine with each sharp tap of boot against stone, casting about desperately for some way to keep Terror out of her hands and safe in the village.

Unfortunately, Terror was as prompt and obedient as always, and it was no time at all until he was trotting up to them with Dread in his sling. The boy was watching everyone with wide eyes, as usual, quiet and calm. Terror dipped in a short bow, his lips twitching at the corners and his eyes warm as he took in the nightsister’s impatient expression. Viscus despaired of his self-preservation. He despaired further when the nightsister commanded not only Terror but also his son to accompany her.

His heart in his throat he choked back an instinctive denial, because what use could she have for a child not even six months old aside from as fodder for her experiments. A lifetime of obedience kept his tongue still, and he held tight to the image of an unworried Terror settling behind the nightsister on her speeder, his son held carefully to his chest between them. Surely, _surely_ he would show some sign of concern if the witch was at all likely to harm the boy. Surely not even Terror, with his friendly heart so willing to let others in, would be foolish enough to trust a nightsister without evidence that it was wise for him to do so.

All he could do was wait and hope that his fears were unfounded, just like every other time he watched his brothers leave the relative safety of the village and his protection, limited as it was.

* * *

Ahjun Nedot had always known what she wanted out of life. Status, influence, the attention and regard of those with more status and influence than she had, and a worthy legacy to leave behind when she joined her sisters in the arms of the Winged Goddess. Status and influence she attained on her own merits, and her sly tongue and sharp ears earned her the respect, if not the fond feelings, of those above her. Her legacy, however, left much to be desired.

Ehsun was a willful, difficult child, who grew into an even more willful and difficult adult. If Ahjun’s ability to bear children hadn’t been ruined by that same difficult child during her birth, she would likely have disowned her and started over. Alas, her worthless daughter was the only child she would ever have, so she would have to make do. Barely force sensitive at all and with no interest in witchcraft, Ehsun was next to useless as far as furthering Ahjun’s ambitions went, but at the very _least_ she could provide a granddaughter who would hopefully be a superior asset.

But no, her difficult child refused her even that one small comfort, after throwing away everything Ahjun had ever taught her in favor of her own interests. If Mother Talzin hadn’t agreed to Ahjun’s request she would have died knowing her lineage would die with her, and that was an intolerable thought. Once Ehsun provided her heir, she would take charge of the child’s rearing and leave her daughter to her own devices. She would rectify whatever errors that led to Ehsun growing up so willful and disobedient, and her legacy would be set in stone.

Patiently Ahjun waited, making sure Ehsun knew via regular contact with less than subtle hints that she would be the one caring for the child, until finally she received notice of her granddaughter’s birth. Apparently there was also a male, but that was hardly relevant so she disregarded it and moved forward with her plans. The day after being informed of the child’s arrival she made her way to her daughter’s solitary little apartment (because of course her clan compound wasn’t good enough, no, she needed her _own space_ like the spoiled brat that she was).

The door wasn’t opened by her daughter, however. It was a _male_ standing in front of her, as though he had any right to sully her presence without being summoned. What was Ehsun thinking, letting him linger instead of sending him packing back to their dirty little village? At least he had the good grace to be deferent, immediately bowing and backing out of her way. Ahjun gave him a discerning once-over, sneering. At least her useless daughter had taste, the male was attractive enough. Dismissing him from her thoughts she swept into the apartment on a cloud of anticipation, but jerked to a halt seeing not one, but _two_ children resting in Ehsun’s lap, one of them _yellow_.

“What,” she snapped, eyes narrowing, “Is _that?_ ”

Ehsun, as contrary as always, merely raised a brow. “An infant, of course. Surely you’ve seen one before, as I currently sit before you having long grown from that very stage.”

Ahjun’s breath whistled through her teeth as she prayed to the Winged Goddess for patience. “Yes, daughter,” she said deliberately calm. “I see the infant. I also see a _male_ , why have you not sent it off to the rest of them? You should be devoting all of your energy to my— _your_ heir.”

Ehsun snorted. She actually _snorted_ , what a disgusting habit. Where did Ahjun go wrong? “ _My_ daughter,” Ehsun said waspishly, her voice getting that tone that Ahjun hated so much, the one that said she was digging in her heels and would not be moved, “is getting plenty of my attention.” She paused for a moment before continuing, her eyes narrowing, and Ahjun felt dismay rising in her breast. “Not that it’s any of your business, as she is, in fact, _my_ daughter, not yours.”

Once again, Ahjun felt her plans crumbling in her hands. Ehsun had never wanted a child, she was supposed to be not only willing but _glad_ to turn her over to her mother to raise. Of course even in this she was going to be difficult, and Ahjun doubted going to Mother Talzin would work a second time. No, no Ehsun would quickly tire of caring for an infant, no matter how much she may think she wanted to at this moment. It was just the first flush of motherhood. Ahjun knew her daughter well and nothing but her studies ever held her attention for long. All she had to do was wait, and soon Ehsun would be begging for her mother’s assistance with the little one. With one last huff of offense, she swept out of the apartment to return home, prepared to exercise patience until her daughter’s inevitable call.

But the call didn’t come. Months later, growing more and more frustrated and concerned, Ahjun reached out to her daughter once more. But again she was rebuffed by that _ungrateful brat._ Ehsun claimed to neither need nor want her help raising the girl, and refused to even consider allowing her mother to take her in. Ahjun started to grow desperate. The girl was her last chance of a proper legacy, a true heir, and Ehsun was throwing that chance away without ever letting Ahjun grasp it in her hands. It couldn’t be borne. But what to do about it?

Fortunately, though her daughter may be a poor excuse for a witch, Ahjun was decidedly not. It was no difficulty for her to spy on the girl from afar. Unfortunately, much to Ahjun’s surprise, Ehsun was an entirely competent mother, if not a particularly warm one. The girl (and she realized then that she hadn’t even been told the child’s name, what an _insult_ ) was never in danger, was fed and cared for satisfactorily, and not neglected in any way. There would be no provable grounds for Ahjun to petition Mother Talzin to remove the infant from her mother’s care. She would have to try another way.

She considered, then disregarded causing her daughter some sort of irrecoverable harm. She may be a disappointment in every way but she _was_ still blood. No, she needed a distraction. Finally, when her granddaughter was nearing six months of age she witnessed something that sparked an idea, a hint of potential. Ehsun summoned that male to attend her _again_. She knew it was the same one, as his coloring was strikingly unique. Observing their interactions Ahjun was greatly displeased to see the liberties her daughter allowed the male. Sitting on the furniture, reading her holobooks, _playing with her daughter_...insufferable. Clearly Ehsun had formed an unseemly attachment to the male, which would be a terrible influence on her granddaughter. Something had to be done.

It didn’t take long for Ahjun to formulate a plan. Hire a bounty hunter to snatch the male away, and if Ehsun had grown as attached as Ahjun suspected, she would likely be entirely distracted enough to go hunting for him. And who would care for her child except for her long-suffering mother? It wasn’t difficult to find a hunter willing to take her pay, not least due to the likely additional payout of then selling the nightbrother after acquiring him. They were highly sought after as slaves for a wide range of purposes, after all, and would likely fetch the hunter a pretty penny. All she had to do was keep watch from afar with her scrying, and alert the bounty hunter when the male was alone and vulnerable.

And so it went. After the nightbrother took the male infant back to his village Ahjun kept watch on him, and it wasn’t long before he was sent out alone into the swamps with nothing but a bow and a spear. A quick comm call later and he was neatly out of the way. All she had to do after that was wait for Ehsun to notice him missing, offer her comfort in her time of need, and take the child off her hands to free her for the hunt. As focused as her daughter got when she was working (though never enough to neglect her child, more’s the pity), it wasn’t until her granddaughter's first birthday that Ehsun went to retrieve the male again. She came back alone, in a towering rage, and for a moment Ahjun worried that Ehsun had somehow learned she was responsible.

But no, Ehsun’s rage was undirected, a consuming inferno that lashed out at all around her indiscriminately but that even then never touched her child. And Ahjun was right, she did intend to hunt down the lost male. And right again that it was her mother she looked to, to care for her child while she was gone. It wasn’t as though she had any _friends_ after all, as acerbic and unlikeable as she was. Of course Ahjun agreed. She already had a room setup in the clan compound for her dear granddaughter, right next to hers. It was no trouble at all to care for the child while her mother was away.

And, well. Depending on how long Ehsun was out searching, it might even make more sense for her to just stay in the compound if and when her mother returned. No point in uprooting the poor thing once she was settled in and happy. And a little spoiling when she was small enough for it not to matter would ensure that she _was_ happy, before Ahjun began to mold her into a proper heir. An heir she had at last been introduced to. Sehja, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Ehsun finally did something right when she chose a decent looking male to father her child. Only time would tell if Sehja’s personality was improved from her mother’s, of course, but Ahjun had hope.

With her granddaughter held comfortably in her arms, Ahjun watched her daughter march determinedly onto the small ship she had purchased to begin her hunt. Surprisingly, she paused before closing the hatch, looking back at Sehja with a momentary conflicted twist to her lips. Ahjun smiled as reassuringly as she could manage, hiding every last hint of triumph as best she could. Apparently it was enough, as Ehsun firmed her features, gave them a sharp nod, and vanished into the ship.

Ahjun didn’t linger and wait for it to take off, turning instead to take her heir to her new home. As she walked she finally properly examined the girl. Her skin was the lightest gray, and her eyes a pale gold. Those eyes were fixed unerringly on Ahjun’s face, with an almost...considering air.

She slowed, blinking down at the strange expression on her granddaughter’s face, feeling a chill run down her spine as she tried to reconcile the soft, infant features with the narrowed eyes and downturned lips of someone judging another and finding them _lacking_. Could Ehsun have corrupted her daughter with her strange ways before the child could even understand them?

Surely not.

* * *


	3. Ehsun and Malice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta for this one, it's thanksgiving lmao I'm not gonna bug anyone today and I'm impatient af. content warning added for slavery, take care of yourselves <3

* * *

Ehsun had never felt true rage before. Oh, of course she had been _angry_ , there were so many irritating things in her life to be angry about, but _rage_ —that was new. But the moment the nightbrothers’ leader told her that Terror had disappeared on a hunting trip, that they had gone searching and found signs of a ship landing near where he had vanished, that this had happened _months ago_ and no one had informed her, Ehsun felt a fire welling up inside her that if she had any sense would probably be terrifying. Obviously the male in front of her had that sense, judging by his suddenly pale face and trembling hands.

For a moment she considered what could possibly be a suitable punishment for the sorry excuse for a leader who had so failed to protect what Ehsun had claimed, but she knew Terror would be hurt if— _when_ , he would be...upset when he returned, if his brothers were harmed. No, she would reserve her displeasure for whoever had taken her—taken the male she had trained into an acceptable assistant. If they had harmed him, that harm would be returned upon them exponentially before she eventually allowed them to die. No one took what belonged to her without suffering the consequences.

For the first time she wished that she had been more enthusiastic with her required combat training. No matter. Even a poorly trained nightsister was a more than capable fighter, it should be no trouble for her to tear through whatever pathetic excuse for a being stood between her and her goal. She would hire some cannon fodder to accompany her if necessary, but she _would_ retrieve Terror and bring him back where he belonged.

The necessity of leaving Sehja in her mother’s care gave her momentary pause. She was fully aware of her mother’s ambitions, knew all too well the sort of upbringing the woman wanted her granddaughter to endure, but at least Ehsun knew Sehja would be _safe_. Surely it wouldn’t take too long to retrieve Terror from whoever had stolen him, and then she could return and pluck her daughter out of her mother’s grasping claws and everything would go back to normal. Besides, even at a year old Sehja was an uncommonly bright child. She wouldn’t be as easy to manipulate as her mother no doubt expected.

Before she could set out she needed to acquire information, weapons, and a ship. The ship and weapons were easy enough, all she had to do was make her case to Mother Talzin and the nightsisters’ armory would be at her disposal, along with a small personal craft for her hunt. All she had to do was play up her offense at the outrage and firmly quash any hint of a personal attachment to that specific nightbrother, and permission was speedily granted. Mother Talzin was not pleased by the insult of some insolent offworlder daring to poach from their stock of males. Ehsun felt disgust twist deep in her gut at the proprietary indignation of the Clan Mother, no longer quite able to think of the nightbrothers so callously, but she buried it underneath her rage and moved on.

Information was a little trickier to gather. Nightsisters rarely left Dathomir, and Ehsun even more rarely than her sisters. It took several days of progressively more insistent questioning to find a nightsister with significant enough experience off world to offer her a starting point. Unfortunately, there were far too many potential starting points. Nal-Hutta, Zygerria, Kessel, Tatooine, probably even more major slave trade hubs than her single source even knew of...Ehsun was almost overwhelmed by the sheer _scope_ of the search she was going to be starting. At least Terror was visually striking. Surely a bright gold and blood red dathomirian zabrak male would be bound to stick out in the memory of anyone who saw him.

She would begin with Zygerria, as it was relatively close to Dathomir. Whoever stole Terror from her had to know that the nightsisters would not permit such an offense to stand, and would likely want to rid themselves of their dangerous cargo sooner rather than later. Decided, she shut down her data terminal, swept through her lab to make sure everything was suitably stable for her absence, then crouched down in front of her daughter’s plush bowl chair, where she was idly watching a holovid, to stare fiercely into her eyes.

“Sehja,” she said quietly, reaching out with both hands to cup those soft, round cheeks. “Listen, daughter. Are you paying attention?” Sehja frowned, reaching her small hands up to grasp her mother’s wrists, and made a small affirmative noise. She was a quiet child, not prone to needless chatter, which normally Ehsun appreciated. This time, however, she needed to know her daughter understood what she was saying. “Words, Sehja.”

Her daughter huffed, pursing her lips in distaste. “ _Yeth._ ”

Ehsun felt her lips twitch with sympathetic amusement. She too would be reluctant to speak if her mouth betrayed her in such a way. “All right. I’m going away for a while, do you understand? I have to go find Terror.” She paused, waiting for her daughter’s nod before continuing. “Someone—someone _took_ him from us, Sehja,” she said harshly, running her thumbs across her daughter’s cheeks in a vain attempt to calm herself. “Someone took him, and I have to go find him and bring him back.”

Though it had been several months since Terror had been with them, Ehsun had little doubt that her daughter remembered him well. They had bonded more strongly than she had expected. Sehja had attached herself to her twin instantly, their little hands clasped together more often than not, and the two of them were rarely far from Terror’s side. Separating them when it was time for the males to leave had been...difficult, and Ehsun had remained cautious of her daughter’s temper ever since.

A furious scowl formed on Sehja’s face at the news that Terror was missing, and she tightened her little hands on Ehsun’s wrists. “Took? D’ed where?” Her little voice was as sharp as Ehsun’s ever was, and she was once again struck by how much alike they were.

Ehsun paused, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t asked about who was caring for Dread while Terror wasn’t there. But, of course the nightbrothers would take care of him, everything Terror had told her about his brothers said that he would be perfectly safe until his father returned. “He’s in the village, and no—” she added sharply as Sehja’s mouth opened, her eyes widening, “no you may _not_ go stay with him. It would never be permitted.”

Sehja’s mouth snapped closed with another furious glower, and she hissed. “Ter’! Go get.”

Ehsun grinned, a flash of carnivore teeth, and she actually felt a growl rumble low in her throat. Her mother would be appalled. “Yes, my daughter. I am going to go get him. But it might take me a while to find him, so you’ll have to stay with my mother while I’m gone.” Sehja hissed again, and Ehsun had to laugh. They really were alike. “I know, but I can’t take you with me. I’ll need both hands to hold weapons, and you are too small to fight.”

Her daughter frowned, huffed, and released Ehsun’s wrists to cross her pudgy arms as best she could. Well aware that was the closest thing that Ehsun would receive to assent, she tossed some clothes in a pack and gathered up her daughter’s things. A quick comm call to her mother to meet them at the small port her ship was docked at, and away they went.

Ehsun almost turned back at the ship, after leaving her daughter in her mother’s arms. How could she abandon her to the hands of someone who would try to stifle that bright, clever spark, that fierce little flame? But when she looked back and saw her Sehja scowling, eyes narrowed with determination, she knew her mother would stand no chance against that force of will. She relaxed, gave her daughter an approving nod, and set off toward her first target.

Hyperspace was...extremely boring. There was only so much information she had on Zygerria to study, and she had gone through it multiple times by the time she reached the planet. If Terror wasn’t to be found there, she would have to bring more reading material next time she headed out. As a woman with obvious means judging by the quality of her ship, it didn’t take long for her to receive approval to land on a planet so preoccupied with wealth and its trappings. Ehsun made her way through the main port city toward the markets. With slavery ostensibly outlawed in the republic, the slave markets themselves would by necessity be at least somewhat hidden, but even a poor witch was good enough to sniff out hidden things such as that.

Dredging up what remained in her mind of her mother’s endless and insufferable witchcraft lessons, Ehsun stretched out her senses and wound her way through the streets of pale stone, between sharply angled and painted buildings, under and between colorful fabric hangings, until she came across a nondescript, large, square building that positively _reeked_ of pain and fear. A hulking brute of a zygerrian guarded the door, fully armored, and gave her a flat, dubious onceover as she approached. She returned it with a single raised brow, her sneer as practiced as any expression that ever crossed her face, and _pushed_ her will at his spirit, asserting her dominance in a manner she usually found...distasteful.

He flinched back ever so slightly, and Ehsun narrowed her eyes as she sensed his weakness. Clearly he wasn’t familiar with nightsisters, or he would have expected her aggression and either submitted immediately or hid his reaction better.

“Stand aside,” she ordered imperiously, her arms crossed under her deep red traditional cloak. The pointed hood cast a shadow across her face, and she knew that the red of her eyes would look like embers in the depths, a suitably intimidating appearance.

The zygerrian shifted on his feet, looking her up and down, clearly noting her weapons and the fine quality of her clothing, then wisely dipped his head and stepped out of the way. A tap of his hand on the pad next to the door slid it open, and she swept into the building on a tide of hauteur and arrogance.

Inside was at once exactly what she might have expected of a slave market, and nothing like it at all. The downcast expressions, the pain and fear and resigned despair of the _merchandise,_ and the grasping, malicious greed of the vendors and customers were all anticipated. The bright, clean, warm light was a surprise, as was the opulent decoration, all jewel toned silk cushions on the scattered benches and paint on the walls.

Mere moments after she walked in, while she was still taking in the large hall, another zygerrian male, this one short and slender, came scurrying up to her and bowed low. “Welcome, honored guest,” he said softly. “How many I assist you today, mistress?” His voice was smooth and pleasant, his hands clasped and eyes on the ground. A wide, gold collar marked him as a likely slave, and his large, furred ears were adorned with numerous gold piercings.

Ehsun sniffed haughtily, tossing the edge of her cloak back and crossing her arms in a perfect mimicry of her mother in a snit. “I’m in the market for something special,” she said coldly, glaring around the room. “And I was told this was the place for... _discerning_ clientele. Price is no object.”

The male bowed again, even lower this time. “Of course, mistress. If you would permit me, I shall lead you to the broker for you to relate your requirements.”

She made a dismissive noise of agreement, and followed the male across the large room, weaving between the well dressed clients of the establishment as they perused the frightened slaves on offer. It appeared to be a market that catered to only those wealthy enough to know about it, and every single slave standing docile near the walls, either alone or in matched sets, was either strikingly beautiful or notably unique in some way. A likely place for a handsome dathomirian male to have been seen. Ehsun felt her blood stir and her fingers twitch with eagerness to take her vengeance.

Alas, luck was against her. When the broker heard her budget he was all too willing to be as helpful as he possibly could, but her desire for a specifically gold and blood red dathomirian male was not one that he could fulfill. Even asking after the potential of past sales that she could then seek the buyer of to make her own arrangement failed. The broker had neither seen nor heard of a zabrak with that coloring in the entirety of his career. Carefully, carefully she contained the growl that wanted so desperately to well out of her throat, and refrained from tearing first the broker and then the entire market to shreds. It would avail her nothing, and the potential for injury and a delay in furthering her hunt was too high.

Instead she swept back out of the market, giving the door guard one last narrow eyed glare and quietly delighting in his subtle flinch. With no interest whatsoever in anything Zygerria had to offer aside from information, it wasn’t long before she exhausted her abilities in gathering anything new and headed back to her ship. She had no familiarity with any kind of criminal underworld, no contacts, no knowledge of any criminals that she might be able to hire to assist her, and no way to acquire these things other than bumbling around the galaxy and hope she would trip over them.

And of course, what better place to trip over criminals than Nal-Hutta?

* * *

Dread was an unsettling child. Too quiet. _Unnaturally_ quiet. Almost nothing phased him, and Malice found it a struggle to summon up the fondness he should have towards the boy, not just as a nightbrother child but as his charge. With Terror vanished who knew where someone needed to take charge of the boy, and as the only one without other duties at the time due to a lengthy recovery for a broken leg, Dread’s care fell to Malice by default. He did try, for Terror’s sake if nothing else, but he just—the boy was _disturbing_.

He understood too much, there was no question about that. He watched everyone, all the time, as though his fellow nightbrothers were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen even though he’d never known anything else. Malice found himself reluctant to touch the boy, and was quietly, desperately glad that he didn’t seem to need as much attention as the average child.

Dread was surprisingly agile for his age, and only grew stronger and quicker as the months went by, so when he started venturing out on his own to scamper around the village Malice just...let him. Of course he would never neglect a child placed in his care, he made sure the boy was clothed and fed, and tended his bumps and scrapes whenever he came back with any, but their relationship was distant at best and he made no effort to bridge that gap. Now and again Malice would go out looking for him when he was late coming back for a meal, and find him perched inexplicably high up on a building or watchtower, staring off into the distance with a strange, almost _resigned_ look on his small face, and Malice would have to push through his reluctance to call the boy down.

Once his leg had finally healed enough for him to return to training and hunting with the rest of his brothers, Malice threw himself into both with relief. While he was still technically Dread’s caretaker, the boy spent much of his time running around with the rest of the small pack of young nightbrothers rather than under his direct supervision, the village as a whole quietly keeping an eye out for any trouble but largely leaving them to their own devices. He only had to endure the child’s strangeness during meals. Even the basic lessons were handled by the village’s single teacher. It was a much more tolerable state of affairs.

Dread was nearing two and a half years old, and Malice was finding it easier to look past the boy’s peculiarities as just a quirk of his nature until they were thrown in his face yet again by his bizarre, seemingly unprompted question. He stared, uncomprehending, his hands frozen in the middle of preparing their evening meal. “...What?”

Dread looked up at him, still idly picking the bark off a small stick with his little claws, his lips pursed in another of his strangely incongruous expressions, this one almost...perplexed. “Why,” he repeated, “are there no girls in the village?” His soft, high voice was confused, which in turn baffled Malice thoroughly.

“Why _would_ there be girls in the village? They’re—they’re _girls_ ” he asked, exasperated. “Girls grow to be nightsisters, of course they’re not going to live here.” By the gods, where did the boy get such a bizarre idea from?

Dread frowned, his brows drawing together in frustration. “But why?” he repeated plaintively. “We’re the same as them, they’re just girls. Why can’t we live together?”

Malice felt a growl rumble in his chest out of sheer anxiety, and immediately regretted it with a stab of shame when Dread’s instinctive response had him baring his throat with wide eyes and a soft whine. “Stop,” he snapped. “Just—that’s how it is, stop asking. It’s not our place to question, it’ll only get you in trouble. The nightsisters live in the clan compounds and we live in the village, that’s how it’s always been.”

Dread clenched his small hands around the stick he’d been picking at, ducking his head and looking away, and Malice turned back to their meal with a grimace. He never should have been put in charge of a child, if he managed to screw up raising him enough for the boy to be having dangerous thoughts like that already. Dread was going to get himself killed, or _worse_ , and it would be Malice’s fault. Terror would never forgive him.

Afterwards, Malice attempted to awkwardly mend their relationship, but it seemed to be too late. Dread was obedient, of course, and never asked another dangerous question, at least where Malice could hear it, but the distance between them remained. The boy spent most of his time either on his own, climbing around the village or in the nearby scrubby trees, or playing with a handful of other boys near his age in simple games like hunter and prey.

Malice tried to steer him toward safer lines of thought and simple pursuits, but he still kept catching him up on the watchtowers staring out toward the swamps. Staring in the direction of the nightsisters’ compound, more often than not, Malice noticed with a chill of apprehension. And the expression on his face when he didn’t realize Malice was looking was no longer melancholy or resigned, it was... _contemplative_. A dangerous expression for any nightbrother to wear, and Malice despaired over it. He needed to find something safer to direct the boy’s energy to, before he said something ill-advised in front of a nightsister and got the whole village into trouble.

Finally, nearly a year later, he hit upon a solution almost by accident. He had brought his bow into their little home for the first time, needing to do more than the average maintenance on it. As soon as he walked in the door Dread’s eyes went directly to the bow, sharp with interest, and Malice raised a brow. It was a bit early to start training a hunter, but Dread learned so quickly it would probably be no trouble to give him some beginning exercises.

“Would you like to learn?” he asked gruffly, gesturing with the bow.

Dread’s eyes widened, and he glanced between Malice’s face and the bow almost disbelievingly. “...Can I?”

Malice smiled, feeling awkward, and nodded. “I’ll have to make you a smaller one, but—yes, yes you can learn.” His heart warmed a little toward the boy at his bright smile, and he started drawing up a training schedule in his mind. He’d have to start him off slow, of course, as small as he was. Nightbrothers were hardy and strong in general but even they could be harmed by training too hard, too young.

It wasn’t difficult to fashion a child-sized bow and some small, blunted arrows for Dread to start with. He threw himself into learning to shoot like he did everything else, and once again Malice was disturbed by the sheer _aptitude_ of the boy. He was a natural, and Malice only needed to correct his form a few times before it was nearly perfect. Of course his muscles still needed to be trained, but his technique was as solid as a child twice his age or more. It was almost like he wasn’t learning it, just—remembering.

Yet again, Malice had to force himself not to pull away from his little brother. It wasn’t his fault he was so unnerving, but by the _gods_ Malice was unsettled. He had a feeling that Dread could tell, and it kicked at something deep in his chest whenever the boy looked at him with that resigned melancholy. He tried to bury his unease, quietly hoping either he would eventually get over it or that Dread would just...grow out of his strangeness. Maybe he would slow down eventually. That rate of progression couldn’t be _sustainable_ —could it?

* * *


	4. interlude - artwork

the fam


	5. Sugi and Havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta this time because I literally just finished it and lack impulse control here we goooooo

* * *

Sugi was worried. She didn’t know what this bounty hunter had bought her and her sister for, and that was never a good sign. He’d locked eyes on them in the market with a flash of not-quite-recognition, and she could _smell_ the greed on him as he haggled with their master, but he had never mentioned what he planned for them in her hearing. At least he hadn’t hurt them yet. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad. _Hopefully_ he wouldn’t be so bad.

Ouve sniffled beside her, shivering slightly in the chill of the small, ratty ship’s cargo bay. Sugi pulled the six year old into her lap, wrapping her arms around her sister in a vain attempt to ward off the cold, and rested her chin between Ouve’s horns. The two of them had only been slaves for three years, but it felt so much longer. A quarter of her life as a slave compared to all the rest of her years, and she was already starting to forget what it was like to be free. Ouve never talked about the past anymore, and Sugi was too afraid to ask if she even remembered their parents at all.

The rattling thrum of the ship leaving hyperspace jolted her out of her thoughts, and she clutched her sister close to her chest and waited to find out where they’d been taken. The wait wasn’t long, as the ship jerked around them as it locked on to something. Probably docked to another ship, based on the sound. With a grimace Sugi nudged Ouve up, staggering to her feet on numb legs, and clasped their hands together tight. A few minutes later the young weequay who bought them strode into the hold, his face wearing the smug, gleeful expression of someone who expected to be getting exactly what they wanted, and Sugi felt her heart sink.

“Come,” he snapped, beckoning them forward with an impatient snap of his fingers.

Heads down, the two of them quickly scuttled up behind him as he turned and headed back down the corridor to the small docking bay. It was only a moment to cycle the atmosphere, then they were being led onto another ship. It was in much better repair, the pilot clearly wealthier than their new owner, and Sugi nervously bit at her lip and pulled Ouve closer.

There was a woman waiting for them, ghost pale with gray tattoos on her face—a face that was twisted into a forbidding frown as she narrowed her eyes at the weequay. “Are you an imbecile?” she asked sharply as a greeting.

He paused, his glee fading into something that looked much more nervous. “N-no?” he answered hesitantly.

The woman frowned _harder_ somehow, her arms crossed and clawed hands tapping irritably on her biceps. Sugi subtly edged in front of her sister with a shudder. “Oh?” the woman asked flatly. “Are you _quite_ sure? Because I distinctly recall telling you I was looking for a golden skinned, _dathomirian male_ with red markings, yet here you are with two _iridonian girls_. So please, do tell me, what is your reasoning for bringing them to me other than you being an _imbecile_?”

He sputtered, flailing a hand back at them that almost hit Sugi in the face. The woman’s eyes narrowed at the near miss, her lip curling to show sharp, predator’s fangs. “They’re gold!” he protested, his own scowl forming. “You said gold, dathomirians have horns, iridonians have horns, they’re basically the same thing except girls. I figured you’d be pleased!”

She sneered, and a low growl sent a zing of instinctive dread up Sugi’s spine. _Dangerous_. “And that is precisely what makes you an imbecile, Mot Frac. Get off my ship and don’t come back until you have something at least vaguely resembling what I’m looking for, or don’t come back at all.”

The weequay, Mot apparently, sputtered some more. “But—what am I supposed to _do_ with them?” he snarled desperately. “I got them for _you_ , I have no use for a couple of brats!”

Sugi shivered, clutching at Ouve’s hands as her sister buried her face in Sugi’s side. Once again their fate was unknown, left at the whims of people who didn’t want them.

The pale woman hissed, looking away for a moment as she obviously considered something, then let out a sharp huff as the growl finally faded away. “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll take them off your hands. But—” she added as Mot brightened, “I will most certainly _not_ be paying you what I was offering for the male.”

And so the haggling began again. Sugi listened with numb ears as her and her sister’s lives were reduced to a credit count and argued over by strangers. It wasn’t long before Mot caved, and sold them to the woman for barely more than he’d purchased them for. He handed over their remotes and left in a towering sulk, abandoning the two girls to their new owner without a glance. She led them into her ship, still scowling, and strode down the corridor without a word as Mot’s ship detached. They exchanged worried glances, but hesitantly followed due to a lack of any other instructions.

Reaching a small galley, the woman dropped down onto a low couch, and gestured for them to sit on the one opposite her. “Well,” she said with a beleaguered sigh, “I suppose introductions are in order. I am Ehsun. You will call me Ehsun. Do _not_ call me master or anything similar, is that understood?” She spoke calmly, her tone not exactly cold but not warm either.

Sugi exchanged glances with her sister again, chewing nervously on her lip. “Yes Ehsun. I’m...Sugi,” she said hesitantly, not quite daring to make eye contact before knowing if it was allowed. “This is my sister Ouve.” Her sister bobbed her head in a small bow, her small hand knotting in the hem of her tunic anxiously.

Ehsun sighed again, longer this time. “You can stop cowering, both of you,” she said with a softer tone. “You won’t be harmed. I’ll be having your slave chips removed at the first opportunity. I have neither need nor desire for unwilling servants.”

Sugi stared, uncomprehending. She bought them—to _free_ them? That... _didn’t happen_. Oh sure, people talked about it, told stories about friends of friends of friends it happened to, but it didn’t _actually happen_. “...Removed?” she asked breathlessly. Ouve sucked in a harsh breath, and her head jerked up as she stared with wide eyes at Ehsun.

The woman sniffed impatiently. “Yes, _removed_. Now, is there anywhere you can go home to?”

Sugi let out a wavering exhale, trying to contain the tremor in her hands. “N-no,” she whispered. “Our family is dead. We don’t have anyone.” Ouve trembled beside her, silent and overcome.

Ehsun flopped back on the couch to stare at the roof of galley with a groan. “Of course you don’t. _Shavit_.” She stayed silent for a moment, then let out a long, slow exhale. “All right. You’ll stay with me, then. Not as slaves, but as—assistants. Until you figure out somewhere you want to go. There’s a spare bunk you can share, and we’ll get you some things on my next stop back home.”

Sugi bit her lip hard, ruthlessly repressing her own tears even as Ouve started to sniffle. “O-okay,” she whispered finally, her now bloody lip quivering. “ _Thank you_.”

Ehsun grimaced, standing up from the couch and turning toward the cockpit. “Don’t mention it,” she muttered, striding swiftly out of the room. “Ever.”

Sugi let out a single gasping sob, dragging Ouve close and tangling their horns together. They cried silently on the couch until they were all out of tears. Sugi gently wiped Ouve’s face clean with the hem of her shabby shirt before roughly rubbing her own face on her sleeve, took a deep breath, then stood. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay let’s—let’s go find that bunk. Alright?” Ouve, silent as always, just nodded. “Okay,” Sugi breathed again.

The first bunk room was locked, but the second one opened at the touch of her hand. It was a small, cramped, bare little room, but the bed was plenty large enough for the two of them and it had a folded blanket sitting on top. Exhausted from the extremes of emotion they’d ridden all day, Sugi immediately shook out the blanket and dragged her little sister up onto the bed. They would sleep, and then when they woke up everything would still be real and they would still be free. They would get to know Ehsun, learn her ways and how to please her, and they would someday be able to pay her back and strike out on their own.

And so it was. Sugi woke before her sister, and they were still in Ehsun’s ship, not back in the cramped little slave quarters they’d lived in the past year. Still on their way to a clinic to get their slave chips removed. She drifted through the following days in a haze of disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wasn’t until she was looking at her chip in a little tray, absently rubbing her arm where the small incision was, that it finally clicked. She wasn’t a slave anymore. She expected to cry, or laugh, or _something,_ but for some reason all she felt was— _blank_. Ouve was smiling, not entirely understanding anything other than they wouldn’t get blown up for running away anymore, but Sugi didn’t have a smile in herself anywhere that she could find.

Back on the ship, apparently headed somewhere called Dathomir, Sugi occupied herself cleaning the small galley while Ehsun was in the cockpit. She may not be a slave anymore but she knew full well that people were less likely to be angry with her if she was as useful as possible. Ouve helped, as always, trotting along behind her with a dry rag to wipe up anything that might turn into a water spot. When Ehsun finally came out and saw them she jerked to a halt, a strange expression on her face, then shook her head sharply and disappeared into the locked bunkroom.

She came back out a few minutes later, a datapad in hand, and thrust it out towards Sugi. “Can you read?” she asked sharply, looking away.

“Y-yes?” Sugi answered hesitantly, awkwardly reaching out to take the pad, holding it carefully in both hands to not drop it.

Ehsun huffed, turning to head back to her bunk. “Good. There are education modules on that. Do them, if you like. Or don’t, I don’t care either way.” With that she disappeared again, leaving Sugi to stare at the closed door and try desperately to understand what had just happened.

Over the next few days in hyperspace, slowly working her way through the few modules she’d found that weren’t beyond her capabilities and getting Ouve started on the basics of reading, Sugi began to get a handle on their new...guardian? She was harsh, but not cruel, and had an awkward kindness to her hidden under the scowls and dismissive gestures. Slowly she started to relax, started to maybe believe that they were actually going to be okay.

Finally they reached Dathomir, a reddish brown planet with wispy white cloud cover, and Ehsun called them into the cockpit. “You’ll be staying in the ship,” she said firmly, a tense pinch to her mouth. “Stay out of the cockpit, and stay quiet. No one should enter the ship but if they do, say that you’re slaves that I purchased to assist me in my work while I’m travelling, and _nothing else_ , understood?”

She paused long enough to make eye contact with both of them, and they nodded rapidly. “Got it,” Sugi said. “Slaves to assist you, nothing else.”

Ehsun relaxed ever so slightly, giving them a small, rare smile. “Good. I’ll be back quickly with supplies, but we’ll be staying here for a few days at least so I can spend some time with my daughter. I’d prefer if the other nightsisters remained unaware of your presence, for your own safety.”

A daughter. Ehsun had a _daughter_. Sugi didn’t know whether to be intrigued or concerned, and firmly suppressed her sudden influx of questions, restraining herself to a single nod of acknowledgment. With that Ehsun waved a casual dismissal, and Sugi took her sister back to their bunk to wait. At least they had the datapad and wouldn’t be bored, and there was plenty of food and water in the galley, so even if they were shut up in the ship alone for a while they should be fine.

After landing and bidding them a farewell with one last admonishment to be quiet and stay out of sight, Ehsun strode out of the ship with steps so quick she was nearly running, and shut the hatch behind her. Fully prepared to be alone for hours, if not days, Sugi was alarmed to hear it open again not an hour and a half later. She exchanged wide eyed glances with Ouve, and they tucked themselves in a corner not visible from the door and waited.

The door opened, and Sugi held her breath and clutched her sister tight, but the voice that came through sent it whooshing back out with relief.

“It’s me,” Ehsun said calmly, almost— _warmly_ , and Sugi felt her eyes widen with surprise. “My daughter insisted on introductions.”

They hesitantly edged toward the door, peering out to see Ehsun with what appeared to be a miniature clone of herself, probably around four years old, but with gold eyes instead of red. After a moment’s more observation Sugi noted a few more differences, aside from the lack of tattoos. The girl’s nose was a little wider, turned up at the end a bit more, and her mouth was more full, and her hair was a bit darker gray, but other than that they looked remarkably alike. Even their expressions were similar, the girl wearing something much like her mother’s usual unimpressed small frown, though Ehsun was smiling at the moment.

Ehsun rested a proprietary hand on the girl’s head, and Sugi was curious to note that she leaned into her mother’s touch with every evidence of affection. “Sehja,” Ehsun said, “These are Sugi and Ouve. They’re my assistants.” Sehja’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, an almost jealous expression on her face, and she continued to look unimpressed.

Sugi swallowed nervously, glancing up at Ehsun then back down at the girl and giving her an awkward little wave, entirely out of practice greeting anyone as a free person let alone the unfriendly daughter of the person who freed them. “Hi,” she said quietly, Ouve echoing her a moment later even quieter.

Sehja sniffed dubiously, then looked up at her mother with a furious little scowl. “If you need assistants why can’t I come with you? You _know_ I would be better at it.”

Ehsun sighed, deeply. “I _don’t_ need an assistant at all, I told you that already,” she said with the long-suffering air of someone who had had that same conversation many times. “They’re here because they have nowhere else to go. And you are still _too small to fight_ ,” she finished with a slightly sharper tone. After another short pause, during which Sehja actually _growled_ a tiny, rumbly, high pitched little growl, Ehsun continued with a sly smirk tugging at her mouth. “Besides, if I take you with me, who would be here to make your grandmother’s life more interesting?”

Sehja stopped growling and started giggling instead, flashing her sharp little teeth, and Sugi shivered, suddenly desperately glad that Ehsun wasn’t letting the girl come with them when they left again.

“All right,” Ehsun said suddenly, waving a hand toward the door, “You’ve met them, now let’s go. I have things to do and then I want you to tell me everything you’ve been up to that you _haven’t_ mentioned on the comms.” With one last nod at Sugi and Ouve, Ehsun swept her daughter back out of the ship, and the two of them settled back into their wait.

Sugi had a feeling that Sehja wouldn’t be denied for too much longer, and started trying to think up ways to hopefully ingratiate herself with the little terror. Judging by the edge of her grin when Ehsun said the word ‘interesting’ she actually meant ‘difficult,’ and Sugi had no intention of being on the bad side of someone with that strong of a propensity for mischief.

* * *

The boy was watching him again. He could _feel it._ Havoc paused in his work and glanced around, checking the usual corners for the little interloper. It wasn’t until he thought to look up that he spied the small gold and red child tucked into the corner of the forge rafters. As usual, the boy wasn’t the least bit ashamed of being caught trespassing, blinking his big, guileless yellow eyes innocently. How he kept getting in without Havoc noticing he _still_ couldn’t figure out, the sneaky little shit, and there he was up on the beams like some kind of lizard. He couldn’t be more than three or four years old, and already stealthier than some of the best hunters in the village.

Havoc sighed, setting his tools aside and propping his hands on his hips. “Get down.”

The boy pouted, but obediently slipped over the side of the beam, hanging by his claw tips before dropping lightly to the dusty stone beneath. “I wasn’t in the way,” he muttered resentfully, shuffling his feet and looking down.

Havoc made a doubtful noise. “You also weren’t _invited_. Does your minder know you’re in here?” That got a reaction, but not one that filled Havoc with good feeling.

The boy winced slightly, his small hands clenching into fists at his side. “No,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t care, though,” he added quickly, looking up at Havoc with wide eyes. “He doesn’t care where I go as long as I’m back for late meal and don’t get in trouble. Can’t I stay and watch? I’ll be quiet!”

Kriff. What was Havoc supposed to do with those eyes staring at him like that, kick the boy out? _Kriff_. He was way too young to start apprenticing already, he should be out playing or...doing whatever boys did these days. Havoc sighed, sending a quick, silent prayer to the twin gods for patience.

“Fine,” he muttered, determinedly not letting the surprised and delighted smile on the boy’s face affect his mood in any way. Not a bit. “You can watch, but you keep your fingers to yourself and stay out from under my feet, got it?” He nodded quickly, shoving his small hands behind his back and scooting towards the wall.

Havoc turned back to the simple spear he was crafting, then paused. “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?” The boy hesitated with a small frown, and Havoc raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a complicated question, but for some reason he had to think about it.

It took him a moment before answering, but he finally did with a soft voice and a strangely reluctant twist to his face. “Dread.”

Havoc hummed noncommittally. “Well. Nice to meet you, Dread. Stay over there or I’m kicking you out.” With that he went back to work, slowly and methodically shaping the head of a spear. And if he worked a little slower than he otherwise might, and took care not to block the boy’s line of sight on his hands so he could clearly see what Havoc was doing, well. Who was there to notice?

Under Dread’s fascinated gaze he hammered, turned, hammered again, periodically placing the blade back in the flames of his small forge before drawing it out to shape some more. Havoc’s skill was hard won, with burns and blisters and broken fingers under the oftentimes harsh tutelage of the village’s previous blacksmith, and he took pride in his work. It was...gratifying, to have such an enthusiastic audience. Every now and then he would glance over to see gold eyes fixed intently on his hands, narrowed in concentration. Havoc raised a brow at the sheer _focus_ Dread seemed to be capable of. Maybe it wasn’t too soon to start teaching him after all.

Havoc quenched the spear, leaning to the side to dodge the cloud of steam, and gave Dread a considering look. He obviously didn’t have enough to occupy his time if he kept sneaking into the forge. Setting the blade aside and scrubbing his hands roughly against his shabby apron, Havoc turned to look at the boy straight on and crossed his arms.

“So,” he said. “You want to learn, do you?”

Dread twitched forward but caught himself, and nodded hard with wide, hopeful eyes.

Havoc hummed, tapping his fingers against his bicep thoughtfully. “Do you think you can follow instructions?” he asked sternly. “Do exactly as I say, when I say, without arguing or questioning until afterwards?”

Dread nodded again, even harder.

Havoc considered for a moment, then sighed, resigned. “All right, fine. Let’s go see your minder and talk about a lesson schedule. I could use an assistant, anyway.” He carefully ignored the delight radiating off the boy, his beleaguered expression firmly fixed. He wasn’t doing it to be _nice_ , he was doing it because the boy clearly had potential, that’s all. He would need to take an apprentice eventually anyway, lest they be left without a blacksmith when he died, now that the old man had finally croaked.

Dread waited surprisingly patiently while Havoc banked the fire in the forge and put his tools away, hovering near the door and still watching every move with intense focus. Finally everything was secure, and Havoc gave Dread a sharp nod toward the door. “Lead the way.”

As small as the village was, it didn’t take long for the two of them to reach the shabby little hut Dread lived in. His minder turned out to be Malice, someone Havoc was at least decently familiar with, and he was surprised and somewhat alarmed to see a _wince_ flash across his face when he caught sight of them.

“Havoc,” Malice greeted cautiously. “What, uh—what can I do for you?” He glanced between Dread and Havoc apprehensively, as though wondering what sort of trouble the boy had managed to get into, and Havoc raised a brow.

“Dread wants to learn smithing,” Havoc said bluntly, carefully noting the not all that well hidden relief that spread across Malice’s face. “And I’m of a mind to teach him. Wanted to make sure it was fine with you first.” Dread looked hopeful, but wary, like he wasn’t sure if he would be allowed, and Havoc frowned ever so slightly.

Fortunately Malice just looked surprised, not displeased by the offer. “S-sure, of course,” he stuttered, blinking. “I don’t mind, as long as he still goes to lessons with Grim when he’s supposed to.”

Dread _beamed_ , a purely delighted expression, and Malice looked almost shocked to see it. Havoc narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing between them. “...Right. Good, then. I’ll set up a schedule and let you know when to send him over.”

Malice laughed a little, a small, flustered sound, and waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t send him anywhere,” he said wryly. “He goes where he pleases. Just tell him when and he’ll be on time, don’t worry.”

Havoc hummed, dubious. The boy was _four_ , he wasn’t so sure about how casual Malice seemed about keeping an eye on him. Maybe he’d have to take a more active interest in his new apprentice than he anticipated. For the good of the village, of course, not because he was _worried_ or anything. It would be a waste of his time to start training the boy only for him to fall in a ditch somewhere and die because no one was watching him.

With one last small frown, Havoc gave Malice a sharp nod. “All right, we’ll start today then.” He glanced over at Dread, still beaming. “Since obviously he doesn’t have anything he’s _supposed_ to be doing right now, if he has time to lurk around my forge.”

Dread grinned up at him, unrepentant, little boy fangs flashing. “Nope! No lessons with Brother Grim today,” he said cheerfully. “Yes please, can we start now?”

Havoc sighed deeply. He was already regretting it, and he hadn’t even started planning the lessons. He had a feeling Dread was going to try his patience in new and exciting ways. “Yes, we can start now.”

* * *


	6. interlude - artwork

Havoc would Prefer Not To Be Interrupted


	7. interlude - Clay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally free from finals hell yeah let's get INTO IT

* * *

Everything was light, shards and fractal colors scattering and blinding, then everything was darkness, a heavy, oppressive black, then everything was gray gray gray and Clay was lost in the nothing of it. There was nothing and nothing and nothing _he_ was nothing until suddenly there was _something_ , and he grabbed for that something with every fiber of his being, weaving himself into it as it passed through the gray nothing until there was no separating them. The something was _burning_ , it was pain and fire and it _hurt_ but it was better than the nothing so Clay grabbed and grabbed and didn’t let go.

He lost himself in the burning, until eventually the pain began to subside. He drifted, the fire around him dying down to a simple but at the same time achingly complex warmth, a ripple across calm water and the sharp flavors of lime and bitters, the rustle of a breeze through leaves and rasp of a whetstone, and he held it close, reveling in no longer being _alone_. They drifted together and he faded, a haze falling over him, and he struggled against it until he remembered—sleep. He was falling asleep, and that was fine, that was _good_ , he was so _tired_. He slept, and the warmth slept beside him, they slept dreamless and deep until the presence was _pulled away_ and he woke and screamed and screamed until he couldn’t scream any more so he slept again, unwilling, fading back into the haze.

He slept and woke and slept, not caring, alone once more and bitter with it. Alone but...no, not alone. Eventually he noticed there was another presence. Not the warm presence he had grasped so tightly before but a cool, sharp thing of smooth surfaces and edges, bubbling liquid and vapor, a hint of salt and blood on his tongue. He felt a kinship, his own jagged shards brushing up against the other’s blades, and he began to stir towards true consciousness for the first time in...he had no idea, an eternity maybe. It was another small eternity of striving toward awareness before he blinked open his eyes onto light and color and _reality_.

Still, reality was blurred. He knew it _was_ real, knew it wasn't...something else, something false, a lie masquerading as life and matter, but he didn't know how he knew that. He knew that it made him desperately, achingly relieved that he wasn't trapped there anymore, but he didn't know how or when he had been trapped or _where_.

Through strangely blurred vision he looked around, and knew that someone screwed up the scaling. He didn't know what that meant except that things around him were too large. No, the things weren't scaled up, he was scaled _down_. He was _short_. He was _so_ short. He knew it like he knew that he existed, that he lived and existed in reality, he knew that he was shorter than he should be and he didn’t know why.

It was difficult to move, to control his body, but he _had a body_ and that was—something shocking, something he thought he would never have (again?). His body was very pale, and that was strange. His hands were small and clumsy, and that was also strange. He frowned, and the pull of his face was different from how it should be, how it...was before? Frustrated confusion surged within him, and he felt an inexplicable rumble in his chest. A growl. He’d never growled before, he knew that, but he didn’t know why it was strange and the strangeness made him growl _more_.

Someone entered the room, startling him into silence, and he stared up at the new presence with narrowed eyes. It was a woman, ghostly pale with gray tattoos, and even with his struggle to focus he could see that her eyebrow was raised. He recognized her, inside, somehow. She was that presence he felt before, the cool sharp bubbling, and he felt himself relax despite his mounting frustration. He knew her and she was safe, _he_ was safe with her there.

“What has drawn your ire, my daughter?” she asked with amusement, walking over to crouch in front of the...bowl that he was sitting in. Why was he in a _bowl?_

Daughter. She called him daughter, and that was wrong somehow, but he found it less irritating by far than every other wrong thing so he ignored it. He opened his mouth to answer but it completely failed to cooperate, resulting in nothing but a garbled collection of noises ending with a hiss of outrage. At least the woman looked sympathetic rather than mocking, or he might have bitten her.

“Ah, the trials of a developing body,” she said with a wry smile. “You’ll get there eventually, Sehja. Don’t worry.”

He frowned as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair, unconsciously leaning into her touch with a small huff. Sehja. Was that his name? It didn’t sound right, but for lack of a better option he would accept it. It wasn’t terrible, at least. The woman (his mother?) picked him up, which he found less alarming than he might have expected, and carried him with her to another room. This room was colder than the other, and all smooth, glossy white surfaces and unadorned walls where the other was comfortable cream and blue and green with cushions and paintings. It was...unsettling, in a familiar way that he _hated_ , but now that he had company he found himself loath to give it up, so he didn’t complain.

She placed him in another bowl, one with high sides and up on tall legs so he had a good view of the entire room. It was well cushioned with a fluffy, dark purple blanket, so with another small huff he nestled into the soft material and turned his attention to his (probably) mother. She was doing something with small quantities of fluids, mixing things and examining the results, testing strips of material and noting things down on a small screen. The motions were familiar in a distant way, but they didn’t have the same edge of remembered fear and helplessness the room itself gave him. Comfortable, warm, with his mother’s familiar presence bustling around nearby, he slowly drifted back to sleep.

The following days, weeks, months(?) were spent in much the same way as that first day of true awareness. Sleeping, waking, eating, watching his mother, trying (and failing, much to his frustration) to communicate in any meaningful way. Periodically she would seem to become aware of his rising frustration and boredom, and set some kind of entertainment in front of him. Usually it was a simple game of some kind, either a physical puzzle or something on a screen that he knew was meant to help him grow and learn, so he did them even though they were almost painfully easy.

She seemed pleased by his intelligence, giving him a small, proud smile every time he got her attention to show her a finished puzzle or successful matching game. Her approval warmed something deep inside him, something that had been cold for a long, long time, and it didn’t take long for him to become almost as attached to her as he was to that warm presence that had been pulled away from him. He would have to take her with him when he was strong enough to go find them.

Except he didn’t have to go find them, because they came to _him._ His mother left, for the first time that he could remember, saying that she was going to fetch someone and coming directly back. Though his grasp on the passage of time was still iffy at best, it didn’t seem all that long before he felt her returning at the very edge of his awareness, and she wasn’t alone. There were two other presences with her. The one like sun-warmed stone and the polished wood of a spear held a similar vague familiarity as his mother once had, but the _other..._

The other was the presence that he knew down to his bones had been his entire universe, for at least a while. A raging inferno that had eventually quieted to the steady, constant warmth, the rippling and rustling, the sour and bitter and the rasp. He lunged up at the edge of the bowl, not for the first time cursing the clumsiness of his small, shitty body, rumbling with a frustrated, high pitched growl when he failed to escape it. Defeated, he clutched at the rim and stared intently toward the door, straining his senses and waiting, until finally, _finally_ the door opened. A soft, yearning cry broke from his throat at the sight of a small, strikingly gold and red child that he _knew_ with every fiber of his being, and he reached helplessly towards them.

His mother’s eyes widened, shocked by the uncharacteristically plaintive sound, and hurried over to pick him up. “Sehja, what is it?” she asked, concerned. “Did something happen?”

He shook his head furiously, still reaching toward his— _something_ , he didn’t know what, just— _his._ They were staring, wide-eyed, leaning towards him with their own hand stretched out and whining softly. He squirmed, failing his small, _stupid_ arms, until finally the two adults set them down next to each other. They immediately clung together, him wrapping his arms as best he could around the other, them bunching small fists in the front of his tunic, still whining a soft, high note. He could sense his mother’s uncertainty, tinged with an edge of baffled amusement, but ignored it in favor of reacquainting himself with his...whatever they were.

“Well,” his mother said above him, her tone rueful, “It seems as though she remembers her brother after all.”

Brother. That sounded _right_ , true on a level beyond surface meaning. They were tied together by a kinship stronger than blood. He clutched his brother closer, ready and willing to bite the hand of anyone who tried to take him away again. The other presence crouched beside them, hesitantly reaching out to brush a gentle touch through his hair, and he finally relaxed enough to look up at them with a small frown. It was a man with the same coloring as his brother, the sun and stone and wood he recognized earlier, and his frown faded as he relaxed further. Familiar, safe, radiating a fierce love and protectiveness toward not just his brother but also himself.

The man smiled, his eyes going glassy with the strength of his feelings, and carefully combed his claws through his hair. “Hello, Sehja,” he whispered. “I’m very happy to see you.”

His mother sat cross-legged next to them, reaching out with her long, elegant fingers to gently rub his brother’s tiny, soft horns (his brother had _horns_ which was incredibly strange and he didn’t know why). “This is your brother, Dread. And this,” she said gesturing at the man, “Is your father, Terror. Do you remember him?”

He frowned, peering up at the man. He didn’t _look_ familiar, but he did _feel_ familiar, so he slowly nodded. He was glad he had, when his response drew a blinding grin to the man’s face, his presence overflowing with shocked delight and warm pride. He felt his face warm, flustered by the sheer strength of the man’s—his _father’s_ approval, and he buried it in his brother’s neck feeling almost... _shy_. Somehow he knew he’d never had something like that before. He decided then that his father was his like his mother was his, and he was never going to let go of them.

But then only a few short weeks after they arrived, his father _left_ and he _took his brother with him_. His mother’s explanation that they were leaving because they had to, because it wasn’t safe for them to stay, was the only reason he didn’t latch on with teeth and claws and anything else he could bring to bear. Instead he just made his displeasure heard, responding to the gutting wrench of hearing Dread cry through the closing door by screaming his frustrated rage, tearing into his blanket with his teeth and claws until it was in tatters.

His mother was visibly shocked for the first time in his memory when she returned and saw the wreckage, him sitting in the midst in frustrated tears and growling fitfully. Her apology for sending them away did not sway him, and even once he calmed down she remained wary of his temper. Every time he managed to make his clumsy, _stupid_ mouth make the right sounds to demand she bring them back, she winced ever so slightly around the eyes when she denied him. Her reasoning that they would bring dangerous attention to his brother and father if they summoned them too often helped him maintain control of his anger, but he still spent much of the next few months sulking.

Finally, _finally_ she left to go bring them back, but—she came back _alone_. Alone, and with enough rage that he could _feel_ it, a crackling thing of cold fire and electricity. When he learned that she was alone because someone had _stolen his father_ , and that he wasn’t going to be allowed to go with her to get him back, or even stay with his brother while his mother hunted them down, he felt his own rage bubbling.

But then, when his mother put him in the hands of a woman who felt like cold oil, like acid and fog and the grasping of vines in a swamp, he found a target for that rage. Judging by his mother’s distaste at the sight of the woman, his grandmother, apparently, she was a perfectly acceptable target besides. Excellent. At least he wouldn’t be bored while she was gone.

He watched his mother’s ship disappear into the atmosphere over his grandmother’s shoulder, scowling as hard as his tiny face could manage. She had better exact a suitable punishment on whatever sorry bastard stole his father. Turning his attention to his grandmother, he gave her a thorough examination. Tall, possibly even taller than his mother. Just as pale, but with pitch black tattoos instead of his mother’s gray that ran across her cheekbones with jagged spikes and met at her black lips. He gave her a dubious look. What an edgy goth. He wasn’t entirely sure what an edgy goth _was_ , but she was definitely one of them.

Satisfied with his judgement of this clearly inferior caretaker, he turned his attention to his surroundings. Being the first time he’d actually left their comfortable little apartment, absolutely everything was new and intriguing. They left the small spaceport just outside the compound, and headed back into the fortress proper. It was massive, a huge, echoing chamber hollowed out of a mountain with pillar complexes covered with scattered glowing windows holding up the ceiling, and glowing pools of liquid around them. Despite having no memory of any other place, he found the whole thing disturbing, and a little bit ridiculous. An underground fortress, _really?_

He was carried into one of those complexes, and the bright light had him squinting after the gloom of the cavern. It wasn’t the one that he’d been carried out of earlier, and he frowned when he realized that they weren’t going back to his home, but instead to wherever his grandmother lived. It turned out she lived in the tackiest, gaudiest horror show he’d ever seen. _Everything_ was either some shade of red, black, or polished gold, and most of it was red. He hissed quietly, offended down to the bottom of his soul by the complete lack of taste or moderation.

“Sehja!” his grandmother said, shocked. “No hissing, bad girl! You’re not an _animal_.”

He turned slowly to look up at her, deeply unimpressed with her chiding. His mother hissed all the time and she was perfectly civilized, so clearly it was entirely acceptable behavior. He hissed again, pointedly, then gestured imperiously at the ground to be released from the woman’s clutches.

Her poorly hidden outrage was covered by a sickly, false smile, and she patted his cheek. “Now, now, Granddaughter,” she said sweetly, “Behave. You’ve had a bad example all this time, but don’t worry, Grandmother will teach you everything you need to know.”

While he was still trying to process that incredibly offensive statement, she carried him into yet another horribly tacky room, this one also mostly red. He was still staring at the painting on the wall (the _whole thing_ in shades of red! Other colors exist, grandmother!) when she set him in a much larger bowl than the one at home, piled high with (red) cushions decorated with ( _more red_ ) embroidery. The threads were scratchy. He hated them immediately. His grandmother let out a smug, satisfied sigh, and he gave her a narrow-eyed glare at her premature sense of victory. He wasn’t sure what she was hoping to accomplish with all of this, but he had no intention of letting her get her way in the least.

“There!” she said with a superior smile. “Isn’t that better than that boring little apartment your mother lives in? This is where you were always meant to be, Sehja, you’ll see. Grandma will take such good care of you that you won’t _want_ to leave.”

With one last condescending pat, she sashayed out the door, closing it behind her and leaving him to stew in resentment. What a _bitch_. As usual he was defeated by the high sides of the bowl and his small, shitty body, so he vented his displeasure by slowly and methodically tearing every last thread out of the scratchy pillows, dropping the tangled wad on the floor. The tacky things were at least more comfortable afterwards, and he piled them up into a mound to flop on and started planning his vengeance.

Over the next few months he restrained himself as best he could, biding his time and learning his grandmother’s ways, searching for weaknesses. She entertained guests often, all of them just as haughty and snide as she was, and every time she dressed him up in ridiculous red outfits that billowed with excess cloth and tripped him even more than his shitty legs usually did. When she wasn’t entertaining she was often staring into a bowl of glowing liquid, apparently able to use it to spy on people judging by her muttered commentary. A useful ability, and he moved acquiring that ability to the very top of his to-do list.

He determined several things about his grandmother’s character over his observational period. One, she was proud. Of herself, of her status, of her abilities, and of her schemes. Two, she didn’t have nearly as much respect from her guests as she thought she did, judging by their snide comments when she was out of earshot. Convenient. Three, she was apparently some kind of witch, which he found shocking for some reason. An actual witch! How incredibly bizarre. If he could learn the skill, maybe his stay with her wouldn’t be completely useless after all. He would have to keep his vengeance subtle, lest he ruin his chances to learn such interesting abilities, which added even more time to his reconnaissance and planning period.

During those months his mother returned home several times, only to report that she had yet to have any luck finding his father. No matter how much he hissed and growled and stridently demanded, she refused to take him along when she went back to her hunt. Intellectually he knew she was right, and that he would be no help at best and a liability at worst, but that didn’t stop him from falling into fits of rage every time she left that would leave his horrid, tacky room in tatters as he shredded anything he could get his claws into.

He could clearly sense his grandmother’s desire to punish him every time, probably in ways that he would find extremely unpleasant judging by her seething, but she restrained herself to increasingly sharp scolding through gritted teeth. Apparently her desire to win his devotion by the time his mother returned for good was keeping him safe from her ire. How incredibly convenient.

Finally, entirely fed up with the woman’s saccharine sweet false affection and not at all sophisticated attempts to _woo_ his loyalty, he set his plans into motion. He carefully gauged his grandmother’s level of unease at his ability to speak, noting what sort of language and word usage _didn’t_ cause her to radiate wariness, and modulated himself to that level to lull her into a sense of security. He stopped glaring at her quite so furiously, and unbent enough to give her at least neutral looks if not smiles. By the time of his second birthday she was starting to lose some of the tension around her eyes when she looked at him, and her determination lost the desperate edge to it.

Once she started radiating smugness, fully convinced that her long campaign of manipulation was bearing fruit, he began his _own_ campaign. He started small, careful not to draw suspicion. A quiet bit of vexingly simplified baby babble while his grandmother was out of the room caught the sharp ears of one of her guests, and he ruthlessly suppressed his victorious grin.

“What was that, Sehja?” the woman asked quietly, leaning in close to his sitting room bowl with intently focused eyes trained on his face.

He blinked up at her, dialing up the innocence as high as he could. “Grandma saw you!” he repeated cheerfully, tilting his head to the side. “In her bowl. She said you were in-comp-re-nant! What’s a in-comp-re-nant?”

The woman’s eye twitched, her hand clenching against her knee. “Oh _did_ she,” she said flatly. “What _else_ did grandma say?”

In bits and pieces, dribs and drabs, over several visits with different guests, he quietly shared all the muttered, scathing commentary his grandmother attached to her guests' names as she peered into her witch bowl. Apparently the women discussed such things amongst themselves, because it wasn’t long before just about every visitor would quietly pump him for information whenever his grandmother was out of earshot. Watching her much beloved status slowly crumble under her feet as her former friends grew colder and colder was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen, and every time his mother came home he related his triumphs to his incredibly admiring audience.

Her suggestions were also quite helpful, and he was struck again by how much he loved her. _She_ never talked to him like he was an idiot. She was the best mother he’d ever had, which was an odd thought in retrospect since she was also the _only_ mother he’d ever had, but he let it stand. He hated it when she left again, hated it with every fiber of his being, but didn’t protest. Until she found Terror and brought him back, he wouldn’t be able to see his brother. Waiting until he was big and strong enough to go find him on his own was an intolerable idea, so he would just have to hope that his mother would eventually be successful in her hunt.

If not, well. He wouldn’t always be too small to fight.

* * *


	8. Shmi and Ehsun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...don't kill me~ ｡ﾟ(ﾟ∩´﹏`∩ﾟ)ﾟ｡ check the tags for new warnings

* * *

The new fighter for the pit stuck out in the crowd like a funnel flower in the sand. Any time he was in the common areas of the slave barracks Shmi couldn’t help but stare, the bright color of his skin catching her eye in a sea of dull brown and faded gray. The gold caught the light even under the layers of sweat-streaked dust and caked on grime, a sharp contrast to the deep red of his strange tattoos. His coloring was by far the loudest thing about him, though. He kept to the edges, quiet and unassuming, never started any fights and always backed away from aggressors. If he hadn’t already been slated for the pits Shmi would have expected him to be assigned to something like refuse shoveling, or cleaning the animal pens, with the way he kept his head down. She didn’t expect he would last long.

It was a few weeks after his arrival before he had his first scheduled fight. Shmi rarely watched the pit, generally preferring to avoid the bloodthirstiness of the crowds and the despair of the fighters, but it just so happened that she was the one serving drinks to Gardulla’s guests that evening. She watched from her place against the wall behind them as the red and gold horned slave stepped out onto the sand of the pit with empty hands, wearing nothing but leather and precious little of that, and prepared herself to see another being die for her mistress’ entertainment.

But then another fighter entered the pit opposite him, and his entire posture suddenly changed. He shifted, his feet spreading apart and his body dipping down as he crouched low, his hands coming up with his fingers spread. Shmi hadn’t noticed before what with his skin being so eye-catching, but it looked like he had _claws_ on his hands. She couldn’t see his face from where she was, but she could see his opponent’s, and he looked confident. The other slave, a rough looking human, was armed with a knife but no armor. He looked decently strong, a little taller than the new fighter, and broader where the other was lean. He moved forward smoothly, unphased by the roar of the crowd, his long knife held up and ready.

The slave waited until the human was right upon him, then like a striking dunecat he whirled around the man’s thrusting blade, whipping his hand out to slash apparently very sharp claws into the human’s side. A scattering of red droplets hit the sand and the crowd roared, drowning out the human’s sharp cry of pain. He recovered quickly, slashing out with the knife to give himself space, and the slave danced gracefully out of reach. Maybe he would last for at least a little while, after all. Shmi would have to make a point to learn his name, if he survived his match.

She was jolted from her preoccupation by an imperious summons from one of Gardulla’s guests, and she hastened to fill their glass with the precious water in her jug. Over the next few minutes she only caught snatches of the fight, but from what she could see the new slave was easily evading the much slower human’s attacks, and every single hit he landed drew blood. It wasn’t long before the human fell to his knees, then his hands, gasping and swaying as blood dripped steadily from the countless deep scratches littering his body.

The roaring crowd hushed as Gardulla moved forward and raised her hand. The slave stood from his crouched posture, his red, red hands loose at his sides, and looked up at her with a blank expression. Shmi bit her lip, looking up from him to Gardulla’s hand, waiting with the rest of the crowd, though with resignation rather than their breathless anticipation. With a terrible smile, Gardulla made the sign for execution. The crowd roared their approval, but the slave _hesitated_ , and Shmi held her breath. Would he survive his match only to refuse Gardulla’s orders and die beside his opponent?

No, he wouldn’t. He shuddered visibly, clenching his hands, and looking down on his fellow fighter, but then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He knelt down beside the human, grasped the man’s head with gentle hands, then swiftly, without warning, snapped his neck, slowly lowering the now lifeless body to the bloody sand. Shmi swallowed roughly, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes for the first time in years, and clenched her hands tight on the jug of water to keep them from trembling. She didn’t know why she was so affected, it wasn’t exactly a shocking sight, but the slumped gold and red form down on the sand sent a pang through her heart, even as he was prodded to his feet and herded out of the ring by the pit master.

She didn’t see him again for a few days, kept busy running around with household duties and serving guests, only left in peace late at night to fall into her bedroll, exhausted. By the time she was in the same room as him for long enough for more than a passing glance, he’d had several more fights, and he didn’t come out of all of them entirely unscathed. When she slid into the empty place beside him at mid-meal he was bandaged all up one arm, and the dingy fabric was stained with dried blood.

She stared at the side of his head until he finally lifted his eyes to hers, hesitant and wary. “Ah...hello?” he said quietly. His voice was softer than she had expected, a smooth tenor roughened at the edges with the dry air.

“Hello,” she said with an encouraging, if small, smile. “I’m Shmi. I work in the palace.”

He looked confused, still cautious, but the tension in his frame softened at the sight of her smile. “Terror,” he said quietly. When her brows drew together in confusion, he clarified, “My name. It—my name is Terror.” His accent was new and strange to her, a rolling, throaty thing she’d never heard before. She wondered where he’d come from, but knew better than to ask. Slaves didn’t tend to like being reminded of what they had lost, if they’d ever had anything to lose in the first place.

With another small smile, she bumped her shoulder against his arm, offering what comfort she could. “Nice to meet you, Terror.” His hesitant, but bright smile warmed something deep in her chest, and her determination to get to know this strange man grew. Seeing him so isolated even among his fellow slaves tugged at her heart. She may not be able to help him much, but at least she could be his friend, for as long as she was able.

Being Terror’s friend was even easier than she had expected. He never asked her for anything but her company, and offered her the same. He was still a ghost of a presence in the slave quarters, but when he saw her he would subtly light up, and the warmth of his smile transformed his face into something truly lovely. If she’d had any interest in men whatsoever, Shmi would have feared for her heart with how readily he let her in. It wasn’t long before they were spending much of their free time, such as it was, in quiet conversation.

During one such conversation, Shmi caught him eyeing her with a strangely considering air as she was telling him a really quite funny story about one of Gardulla’s pet bounty hunters tripping down a flight of stairs. She raised an eyebrow, wordlessly encouraging him to spit out whatever it was he was thinking so hard about.

He hesitated, but it seemed he had decided she was trustworthy enough to speak his mind. “If I were to leave here, would you want to come with me?” he asked in a low tone, after glancing around to be sure no one else was in ear shot.

Shmi blinked at him, sure that she must have misheard with how ridiculous a question it was.

Her baffled stare seemed to get that across, as Terror grimaced and looked down. “I’m serious,” he whispered. “Not—not _now_ , obviously,” he waved vaguely at himself, as though to indicate the explosive chip while not having any idea where it actually was. “But there’s—someone is looking for me. My friend. And when she finds me, would you—do you want to come with me? Away from here.”

“Terror…” Shmi trailed off, not wanting to crush his hopes, but well aware that people didn’t just go looking for people taken as slaves and then actually _find_ them. People disappeared into the outer rim all the time. It was a vast track of space to even begin searching for someone, let alone for someone so insignificant as a piece of property.

Terror looked back up at her, unexpectedly fierce. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered harshly. “But she _is_ looking for me. I heard about it at the last place I was sold to before Gardulla. I recognized her description, Shmi. Someone who looks like my friend is looking for someone who looks like me, and there are _no others who look like me_.” He paused for a moment, letting out a sharp bark of bitter laughter. “She was there a month before I was. So it—it might be a while, before she goes back there and—and picks up my trail, but…”

But there was someone looking for him, which meant someone might actually _find_ him. Shmi looked away, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling. “If she does find you,” she said slowly, tasting the bitterness of hope coating each word as it left her mouth, “What can she do? Against Gardulla? Would she _buy_ you?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him grin, a sharp thing that would be more at home on the sands of the pit than in the slave quarters. “Nothing stops Ehsun from getting whatever she wants, don’t worry about that,” he said with the fervency of a true believer.

Shmi let out a shuddering breath, hugging her knees to her chest and staring across the common room of the slave quarters. She’d been a slave for over fifteen years, since she was _six years old_ , she barely even _remembered_ anything else. But there was really only one answer she could give, no matter how distant the possibility. “Yes,” she whispered against her legs, hands clenched tight. “Yes, I want to go with you.”

His smile looked relieved as much as it did determined, as though he had worried she would say no. She leaned against his side, resting her head against his strong shoulder, and tried to keep that bitter hope from rising too quickly. It wasn’t healthy to water those seeds too much when they could so easily be crushed. Still, she couldn’t help but think about the possibility every now and then, as the months went by. If Terror could keep his winning streak for long enough, maybe his friend _would_ find him. And if she found him, and he was still alive to make the request, maybe...maybe she would free Shmi as well.

Six months, Terror had been fighting in the pits. Four of those months, Shmi had been waiting with him in faint, but _real_ hope of rescue. The pit master slowly upped the challenge of those sent against him over those months, though, and Terror started coming out of the pit with more and more injuries. He grew even quieter, the weight of pain and exhaustion dragging at his spirits, the blood on his hands doing even worse. Shmi did her best to help, slipping him extra food when she could get away with it, letting him sleep with his head in her lap while she kept watch for him, but it couldn’t last. The first Shmi heard about his last match was from a pair of gossiping slaves in the hall outside Gardulla’s throne room.

“—starting to think nothing was gonna take that zabrak down,” one of them said, almost out of ear-shot where Shmi was kneeling and scrubbing at the stone floor with a dry brush.

She froze, her hand clenched on the splintery wood of the brush, a rush of cold down her spine like ice. “No,” she whispered, the hand braced on the floor trembling, then scrambled to her feet and dashed for the door. “What did you say?” she snapped, startling the two young men, vaguely familiar to her as errand runners and porters. When they just stared at her, she snapped again. “The zabrak, you were talking about a zabrak, _what happened_?”

“H-he lost a fight,” one of them stammered. “They carried him out of the pit, that’s all I know!”

Still cold down to her bones, she watched them scurry away, clutching the brush in both hands and breathing slowly. Carried out of the pit was—bad, but—he wasn’t executed for the crowd or they would have _said_ that. With another slow, deep breath, Shmi went back into the empty hall and got back to scrubbing. There was nothing else she could do, and if she hadn’t finished by the time Gardulla returned she would be punished, and would be of no use to Terror if he still lived.

Once she was finally finished with her task, Shmi practically flew down the corridors toward the slave quarters, but he wasn’t there. Her heart in her throat, she made her way instead to the small, poorly equipped slave healer’s room, and that’s where she found him. He was—alive. He was unconscious, wounded, and heavily bandaged, but _alive_. Judging by the red on the strips of fabric hiding his wounds he was still bleeding, if sluggishly. His right leg was in particularly bad shape, wrapped from ankle to knee and the bandages nearly soaked through with blood.

The rickety old twi’lek healer was grumbling and muttering as she changed out the wrappings for dry ones, exposing red flesh sliced to ribbons underneath, any hint of gold hidden under the stain of blood. Shmi felt her stomach roll at the flash of white as the healer pulled away the fabric, and had to turn away. Bone. That was _bone_.

“Will he live?” she asked hoarsely, still looking away.

“Maybe,” the healer muttered with a shrug, callous. She’d been long hardened to the inevitable sad end of the slaves she tried to tend, though she still did her best, and Shmi did not begrudge her the hard shell she’d built up over the years. They all defended their hearts in what ways they could.

She got the story from a beast handler, later. The pit master, under Gardulla’s orders, had sent Terror alone and unarmed against three opponents. A human, a zeltron, and a dug, all experienced and hardened fighters, all armed with a pair of long knives. Apparently Gardulla had grown bored with his winning streak and wanted to see him brought down a peg, but was so impressed with him for taking out two of his three opponents she had allowed him to live. The zeltron was Gardulla’s new champion, and she spent most of her time when she wasn’t fighting brooding in the corner of the commons. Shmi _hated her_.

Terror spent much of the next week in a haze of pain and fever. Shmi helped the healer tend him as much as she had the time for, holding his hand as he muttered in his sleep and struggled against the confines of his patched blanket. His leg festered, and what medical supplies the slaves were permitted weren’t anywhere near good enough to save it. Shmi hoped desperately that Terror had some kind of skill that would make him worth holding onto, something he could do with only one leg that would off-set the cost of his keep. If he didn’t, she would do her best to find him a place _somewhere_ , even if she had to blackmail the slave master into it. He didn’t deserve to be thrown away.

His fever broke some time during the night, and the twitching of his fingers in her hand pulled Shmi from her sleep. She jerked upright, blinking furiously, then caught his glassy stare turned toward her face. “Oh,” she whispered, wrapping both her hands around his larger one. “Hey, are you—how are you feeling?” She almost winced as she finished the question, but managed to give him a shaky smile when his eyes finally focused.

His mouth opened with a faint croak, and she cursed quietly and grabbed the small pouch from the floor next to his bedroll. “Here, have a little water. Not too much, this is all I have for you at the moment, but…” she trailed off as he carefully sucked from the pouch, even half-aware knowing not to waste a single drop.

When it was gone he rolled his head to the side to see her better, clutching her hand in his. “What...happened?” he rasped, a shiver wracking his frame. Hesitantly, she reached out to brush her fingers across his horns. She’d noticed that he rubbed them with his own fingers unconsciously when he was anxious, and hoped it would help. It seemed to, as he leaned into her hand with another shiver.

“You...you lost your match. Gardulla was impressed enough to spare you, so you’ve been here recovering since. It’s been eight days.” She paused for a moment, trying to think of some way to soften the blow, but failed. “The healer had to take your leg,” she said gently, rubbing her thumb up and down one of the larger horns, carefully avoiding the sharp tip and blade-like edge. “Just below the knee.”

He swallowed, clearly digesting the words for a long moment, then rolled his head away with a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “That’s...okay.”

Her heart aching, she kept petting his horns gently until he drifted back to sleep, still clutching her hand in his. He was going to be fine. She would make sure of it.

* * *

Ehsun was _tired_. Five years, she’d been looking for her children’s father, and for five years her search had been in vain. The network of slavers, slave labor operations, and the wealthy and amoral who kept other sentients as property for status and amusement was a wide one, with tricky, twisting routes of communication and well-hidden markets, and with a labyrinthine _mess_ of a flow of “goods.” The whole thing was an infuriating morass of greed and depravity, and more often than not all she wanted to do was burn it all to the ground and sift through the ashes for the information she was looking for.

Unfortunately for her temper, she was well aware that destroying the entire horrible system was not only beyond her means, it wouldn’t get her to her goal any quicker than her careful, thorough investigations. At least the information network she’d built over the years had grown to be a fairly impressive one, and her store of blackmail material was considerable and ever increasing. Having long since exhausted Mother Talzin’s patience and lost the financial support of the nightsisters, finding slave trade connections to the wealthy and powerful of various systems was quite a lucky break.

Said wealthy and powerful generously provided a not inconsiderable amount of credits in exchange for her silence, which she used to start yet another network, this one in the manufacture and sale of some of the... _trickier_ and highly regulated chemicals to produce. And her mother had always told her that her interest in chemistry was a pointless hobby. With Sugi at her side, a dutiful assistant and attentive student, and Ouve trailing quietly behind, Ehsun bought and sold both information and chemicals all across the galaxy.

It wasn’t long before Sugi, sharp girl that she was, had largely taken over managing the flow of information while Ehsun holed up in the cramped little lab in the corner of their cargo bay to produce their products. Well aware that most of those products ended up as components of explosives and the like, she at least consoled herself that none of them were even tangentially related to the drug trade. She’d seen enough of the harm that sort of thing could do in her travels to want no part of it.

It was fortunate that her current project wasn’t in a particularly sensitive phase when Sugi suddenly burst into the bay, or there could have been an extremely _un_ fortunate explosive reaction when her hands jolted in alarm. “ _What?_ ” she snapped, heart racing as she carefully set the two vials in the rack on the table. Sugi’s answer sent her heart pounding in an entirely different way, her breath catching in her throat with a sudden surge of an emotion that she didn’t care to name.

“I think—I think we have a lead,” she said breathlessly, hands clenched on the frame of the door, eyes wide.

Ehsun stared at her for a moment, blank faced, then jerked into motion. “Show me,” she said harshly, following on quick feet as Sugi ran back toward the data terminal. She skimmed through the open missive from a relatively new contact, her eyes latching onto the description of a contestant in a slave fighting ring on some backwater dustball of a planet. Gold, red markings, horns, ferocity and martial skill, fighting unarmed but for teeth and claws and sheer strength.

Ehsun let out a slow breath, preventing a tremble in her fingers through sheer force of will. “Good,” she said quietly, reading it again and again, biting back a growl deep in her chest. “ _Good_. This is promising. Set a course.”

With a sharp nod Sugi dashed off to the cockpit, and Ehsun drifted back into the cargo bay to finish her synthesis. At least she had something to occupy herself with during the time it would take to get to Tatooine.

It was fortunate that they weren’t any further across the galaxy than they had been, or Ehsun would have paced her way right through the hull of the ship by the time they got to the planet. It was exactly as terrible as she remembered from her brief visit a couple years earlier. Dry heat, miserable people, and the overwhelming glare of two suns looming overhead. Having become at least marginally well-known as an information broker and chemical supplier, it was no trouble to gain entrance to Gardulla’s palace for networking. The hutts were well known for presiding over pseudo-courts of criminal activity, of course taking a cut of any transactions that were made under their greedy eyes.

Ehsun made casual conversation with a few of the less objectionable people she was casually acquaintanced with. She was talking to a gand bounty hunter she’d met before, subtly teasing out potential buyers for wares both physical and not while quietly casing the room, when across the hall her attention was caught by a sudden stillness. A figure, frozen like a statue, surrounded by the hurried motion of other slaves. A human woman, a bit younger than Ehsun, with lightly tanned skin and long brown hair twisted into a simple braid. She was staring right at Ehsun with wide eyes, her hands clenched tight in the threadbare fabric of her gray tunic. That was _recognition_ on her face. Ehsun frowned, casting back through her memory, but found no recollection of ever seeing the woman before.

At her frown the woman jerked her gaze away from Ehsun and over to the hutt, swallowed nervously, then looked back at Ehsun with her lips tightening into a flat line. Ehsun cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. With one last anxious glance at Gardulla, and a complicated and meaningful stare at Ehsun, she ducked her head and slipped out of the hall. At a loss as to what the look was meant to convey, but increasingly curious, Ehsun made her excuses and moved to follow the slave.

She was waiting in the corridor, hands clasped together and face wary. “Are you Ehsun?” she asked sharply, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shocked, besieged by a surge of suspicion and a growing thread of hope, Ehsun paused for a moment, then nodded slightly, glancing around for any observers. “Yes. Why?” she asked, also quiet, after seeing no one paying them the least bit of attention.

The human let out a wavering breath, closing her eyes and clenching her jaw. “You’re...looking for Terror?” she asked in a whisper.

Ehsun froze, a swell of adrenaline shivering up her spine until her teeth started to ache. “ _Yes_ ,” she hissed, leaning forward as though about to pounce. “ _Where is he?_ ”

The slave flinched, her eyes snapping open as she jerked back a step. “I—I’ll take you to him,” she said quietly, glancing at the open doorway to Gardulla’s hall then back with another nervous swallow. “Come.”

Ehsun followed the slave silently through the palace, along winding, dusty corridors traveled largely by other slaves rather than guests, it seemed. She eyed the human suspiciously, hand on the blaster at her side just in case, and kept close enough to grab her if she decided to flee. It wasn’t all that long though before the corridors narrowed further, open doorways scattered along them with either what appeared to be storage rooms full of random junk or sleeping quarters, shabby bedrolls scattered around with a distinct lack of furniture.

The woman slowed as they approached yet another room, and Ehsun’s gaze sharpened even further at the slave’s hesitant glance at her face, but as she cleared the doorway there was a call from inside that drove every last thought from her head.

“Shmi!” came a cheerful, familiar tenor from within. “I thought you were on duty all day. Were you let go early?”

The rolling sound of his dathomirian accent sent Ehsun’s breath stuttering in her throat, and she shoved passed the woman to stagger into the small room. Gold. Gold and red, and it was _Terror_ she _found him_ and there was something wrong with her, her chest felt strange. His eyes were huge in his face, he looked shocked, radiating disbelief and wonder and oh gods his leg was missing why was his _leg missing_ what was that hideous metal contraption where his leg was supposed to be was—was he _mending clothing_ what was he—oh he was—he was crying. Terror was crying, the ridiculous sop of a man, of _course_ he was crying.

Ehsun ignored her own ragged breathing and wet face, staggered over to where he was seated on the floor in a pile of ragged torn fabric, his needle and thread dropped to the side and forgotten, and fell to her knees in front of him. “I _found_ you,” she whispered harshly, her teeth bared, reaching up to clasp her fingers tightly around his horns as he collapsed into her chest.

His hands fisted in the fabric of her jacket as he gasped and shook, leaning into her as much as he could. “I knew you would,” he whispered, barely audible. “I _knew it_.”

Ehsun heard sniffling behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to see the human, Shmi apparently, holding a hand over her mouth with her eyes wet and shining. She gave the woman a firm nod, managing to draw her lips back over her fangs somehow even as she clutched Terror tighter against herself. If the woman had been a friend to Terror while he had been kept away from her, Ehsun would have to see that she was rewarded for her loyalty.

Controlling her breathing with some effort, Ehsun slowly released Terror from her grip, pushing him upright to get a better look at his face. He had many more scars than when she last saw him, and she felt a growl itching to be released as she traced each one with her eyes. She kept her eyes away from his leg, not prepared for the inevitable swell of rage that looking at it would bring. He was still shaking, and she frowned, grabbing a nearby piece of fabric to wipe his damp face.

“Stop leaking,” she snapped, secretly delighted when he let out a watery chuckle, his expression brightening ever so slightly. “I’m going to get you out of here. Now. Where are your things?” He twitched, eyes widening, and looked desperately over at Shmi. Ehsun snapped her fingers to draw his attention back to her own face. “Yes, her too, I’m not an idiot, now _where are your things?_ I have a scanner and a med droid on my ship and a signal disabler in my belt. We’re leaving. _Now_.”

“I—I don’t have anything,” he stammered, eyes wide and face suddenly blank.

Ehsun hissed, a low rumble escaping from her chest. She did so desperately want to tear this entire place to rubble, starting with that _bitch_ Gardulla, but it would have to wait at least until Terror was securely back on her ship where he belonged. “Fine. Get up, let’s go.” She stood abruptly, grabbing Terror’s hands off her jacket and pulling him to his feet. He winced as he stood, listing to one side, and her growl got a bit louder. She glanced over at Shmi with a frown, giving her a quick once-over. “You don’t have anything to fetch either?”

Shmi took a shuddering breath, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. “N-no, nothing,” she whispered.

“Good. Then we can leave directly,” Ehsun snapped, releasing Terror’s hands to pull the small disabling device out of the pouch on her belt, swiftly running it over Terror’s body until it gave a soft, low beep over the side of his left thigh. With an imperious hand she waved Shmi closer, and the woman jerked forward with a soft noise in the back of her throat. That time the beep sounded over the right shoulder, and after one last quick scan of the two of them for any duplicate sensors, Ehsun gave them a sharp nod.

“All right, that’s done,” she said firmly. “The incoming signals have been jammed, and will remain so as long as this device is working. Plenty of time to get the explosives removed on my ship. They’ll still be outputting so the chips don’t get set off automatically, so when you get out of range the controls will be alerted, but my ship is close enough that they won’t be able to get a pursuit going in time to catch us. Do either of you know a quick way out of here without alerting any guards?”

Shmi nodded quickly, shaky but already standing taller than she had been. “Yes, the servant’s entrances are rarely watched. They don’t need to be,” she finished bitterly, holding her hand over her shoulder where the device had beeped.

Ehsun waved a dismissive hand, reaching out with the other to wrap her fingers around Terror’s hand without looking at him, determinedly ignoring the weight of his gaze still fixed on her face with shock and wonder. “Lead on, then.”

They encountered no one on their way out of the palace. Shmi apparently knew the corridors well, and took them on a winding route that bypassed anywhere people tended to traverse. It wasn’t long before Ehsun was blinking under the harsh lights of Tatooine’s suns, her hand still clasped tight around Terror’s fingers and Shmi a few steps ahead. She paused, considering the distance they would need to travel, then with a huff released Terror’s hand and turned to face him.

“Wait here,” she said, a reluctant grimace on her face. “I brought a speeder, it will be much safer than walking to the ship. I’ll retrieve it and meet you back here. _Do not leave this spot_.” She glared fiercely at both of them, waiting for their nods of acknowledgement, then firmed her resolve and turned away. The illogical thought that he would disappear as soon as she took her eyes off him wouldn’t leave her alone, and she glanced back just long enough to see him lean casually against the wall next to the exit, doing his best to look relaxed with Shmi sitting on the ground next to him.

With one last deep breath, she swiftly strode around the corner of the palace toward the flat bit of ground that Gardulla’s guests used to park their assorted transportation. There were a handful of guards, none of them paying the least bit of attention to the vehicles they were supposedly guarding, and she gave them a disgusted look as she unlocked and started up her speeder. Convenient to have them so unobservant, but how deeply unprofessional.

Her gut tight with an obnoxious level of anxiety, she zipped back around the palace, eyes straining to catch sight of Terror, and felt relief crash over her in a wave when he was exactly where she had left him, Shmi beside him. She’d only been gone a few minutes but it felt much longer, and it was good to have them in her gaze once more. She pulled up to a stop next to them, waited just long enough for them to scramble on behind her, and sped off into the desert toward her ship.

The weight of Terror behind her, arms wrapped tight around her waist, threw her mind into the past for a long moment, and it was almost as though those long years had been some terrible dream. But no, they weren’t speeding along the muggy, stinking swamps of Dathomir. It was golden sand and blazing dry heat as far as the eye could see.

A speck on the horizon, rapidly growing, threatened to send a shudder of relief through her limbs, and as they approached the welcome sight of the home away from home that her ship had become she couldn’t help but relax slightly. The cargo bay door lowered as they approached, and she pulled into the ship without stopping, sliding into the small parking bay smoothly. The bay closed behind them, and she turned her eyes over to the controls to see Sugi _beaming_ at her, practically dancing with excitement.

She grinned back, a small, fierce thing, and gave her a sharp nod. “Go wake up the med droid,” she called over, hopping off the speeder and securing it to the ship. “It has a couple surgeries to do, and then we can get off this rock.”

“Ehsun,” Terror said softly behind her, and she turned to see him standing there with his shoulders hunched, Shmi hovering silently behind him. His eyes were wet again, his hands wrapped tight around his middle as he looked at her with desperate pleading. “H-how are they?”

She softened, stepping closer to wrap her fingers around one of his larger horns firmly and pulling him close. “Sehja is fine. She’s strong and furious and a storm of trouble hiding under a deceptively innocent face. Dread…” she paused, grimacing, suddenly ashamed that she hadn’t tried harder, come up with some excuse to bring her son to her. “I don’t know. I couldn’t think of a way to see him without putting him in danger. I’m sorry.”

He rested his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and letting out a wet, shuddering breath. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his claws pricking the skin of her back slightly as he clutched at her jacket. “I—I had hoped you could take him, but I knew...that it wasn’t really possible.”

She winced, closing her eyes and swallowing her bitter regrets. She had more important things to worry about than self-recrimination. “Let’s get the two of you properly freed and settled in, then we’ll talk about where to go from there,” she said, squeezing his shoulders awkwardly.

He nodded against her shoulder with one last sniff, then stood upright and rubbed the dampness from his face. “Right. Okay. Talk after.”

* * *


	9. interlude - artwork

H E


	10. Viscus and Ouve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ʘᗩʘ’) I'M SORRY but I've added the angst tag for this chapter. warning for Mother Talzin's Existence, and Sidious' Everything.

* * *

Brother Viscus had given up trying to understand Dread’s peculiar behaviors. He was an inoffensive child, obedient and quiet, but so terribly, _terribly_ clever that it was actually unsettling. If he weren’t such a genial and biddable boy, he would likely have been running circles around his minder by the time he could walk. Any rule or command he was given he would follow, but his well-reasoned arguments generally ended up with him getting his way whenever he disagreed with them. And he asked the _strangest_ questions.

Malice had brought his concerns to Viscus several times, worried that he was somehow unintentionally encouraging dangerous behaviors in the boy. Viscus spoke with him, of course, impressing upon him the importance of obedience and deference, and he did seem to understand, but Viscus still kept a close eye on him.

That close eye meant he was more aware of his comings and goings than he was for the average boy in the village, which made him privy to more of the boy’s... _oddities_. The most significant of which was the sheer amount of time the boy spent just, by all appearances, sitting and thinking. He’d never seen a child so prone to contemplation, often coming across him sitting perfectly still on a watch tower or the wall and looking out over the swamp, clearly lost in his own head rather than enjoying the view, such as it was.

At least he mostly kept himself busy. For being only six years old, he was a remarkably industrious child. Viscus assumed Dread must have come by his intense focus from his mother, as Terror was a much more laid back and cheerful boy at that age. Where Terror spent his free time playing, and attended lessons dutifully but without much in the way of enthusiasm, Dread positively devoured anything his elders were willing to teach him, and had somehow managed to convince their surly blacksmith to start him off with an early apprenticeship.

Viscus had begun to despair of ever getting Havoc to seek out someone to teach his skills to, so despite the boy’s young age Viscus had approved his plan. Viscus noted that Malice had also been giving the boy archery lessons for some time, and he practiced that diligently as well. Dread seemed to have no trouble keeping up with his regular lessons, despite all his extracurricular activities, at least according to Grim’s account of his progress. Viscus flipped through the flimsi sheets with the teacher’s quarterly reports on all the village’s boys, and noted once again that Dread was performing satisfactorily.

Then again, they weren’t teaching anything all that complicated, so it would honestly be more surprising if he was doing _badly_. The nightsisters only allowed them a certain level of education, after all. It wouldn’t do for their chattel to be too well-read.

The insistent chiming of his com dragged Viscus from his increasingly bitter thoughts, and he stood and swiftly crossed the room to answer the holocall. Not even the leader of the village could safely keep a nightsister waiting. An icy hand gripped at his gut when the holo opened, and he saw not a nightsister demanding a trial selection for a mate, but Mother Talzin herself. Viscus reflexively dropped to his knee, head lowered deferentially, his hands clasped before him. “How may I serve you, Mother,” he said quickly, ruthlessly repressing a shudder. She didn’t answer for a long moment, and Viscus held perfectly still, a statue of obedience, and waited for her command.

Finally, she spoke, her cold voice seeping into his ears like oily black smoke, sending a tremor through his fingers. “How do my sons fare, Viscus?”

He swallowed as subtly as he could manage, his apprehension rising. “They fare well, Mother. Savage is strong for his age, and fast. Maul and Feral are both fierce. They will make fine warriors.”

She made a rough noise of acknowledgement, and Viscus fancied he could feel the heat of her stare on the back of his neck. “Good. I have a use for one of them. I will be visiting the village tomorrow morning with...an _ally_ of mine. Have them ready to be presented to me when I arrive.”

“As you command, Mother,” he said immediately, closing his eyes against the weight of his dismay.

Without another word, the holocall ended, and Viscus took a slow, deep breath before rising to his feet. ‘A use,’ for a boy either seven years old or four. And an _ally_. Viscus had never heard of Mother Talzin making an alliance of any kind. Any new behaviors from the nightsisters were to be feared, generally leading to even more misfortune for the nightbrothers, and this was likely to turn out no different. Unfortunately he had no choice, and he well knew it. All that remained to be decided was, did he leave the boys in blissful ignorance for the night, or tell them immediately so they could prepare themselves?

But then, how could they prepare when even Viscus had no idea what was going to happen to them? No, better to let them get a peaceful night’s sleep, and wake them before dawn. Decided, he strode to the door of his small house and out into the evening air. The boys deserved a peaceful night before whatever their fate may be, but better to warn the grown nightbrothers of Mother Talzin’s visit sooner than later.

Viscus spent the long night sleepless, sitting high on the wall and looking out over the quiet village, doing his best to empty his mind and calm his thoughts before Mother Talzin’s arrival. It was always an even chance between her being amused by any hint of bitter resentment she sensed in him, or enraged. As soon as dawn began to touch the horizon, Viscus left his lonely vigil and went to wake Mother Talzin’s sons.

Neither Savage’s father nor the twins’ had lived to see them born, which was no surprise considering who their mother was, so the three of them were cared for by one of their few elders, Maim. The elder met Viscus at the door, his face haggard and drawn, likely having slept as little as Viscus had.

Viscus gave him a nod, the two of them sharing a look of grim resignation. “Are they awake?” he asked quietly.

Maim sighed, closing his eyes. “Yes. I was just trying to explain. Savage understands how he must behave, some of what might happen, but I’m not sure if Maul and Feral do. They’re—” his voice cracked, and he paused for a moment to regain his composure before finishing, “They’re very young.”

Viscus took a deep breath, gave Maim another nod, and stepped through the door. The boys were sitting on the floor on a rug, Maul and Feral holding hands and Savage hugging his knees tightly. The twins looked confused, a little worried, but Savage looked on the very edge of panic. All three of them scrambled to their feet when they saw him, Savage stepping in front of his brothers and swallowing nervously.

Viscus studied them for a moment, still grappling for balance, then let out a breath. “Boys,” he said as kindly as he could. “Maim told me that he informed you of your mother’s impending visit.” They nodded mutely, and Savage flinched slightly. “Mother Talzin has a role for one of you to fill. This means that one of you will be leaving the village with her today. Do you understand?”

The twins exchanged uncertain looks, before Feral edged forward slightly. “Leaving for how long, Brother Viscus?” he asked quietly, bobbing his head in a short bow. Beside him Savage grimaced, his small hands clenching at his sides.

“I do not know how long,” Viscus answered simply. “Mother Talzin did not inform me. She may choose to do so when you are presented before her, but she may not. Either way, we must obey.” Young as they were, all three of them still understood the importance of obedience, at least. All three nodded, though Savage’s was a sharp, jerky thing, his expression tight with apprehension. “Good. Come,” Viscus said quietly, turning toward the door.

He led the four of them to the square just as the sun’s rays hit the top of the walls. The village was still, silent. _Waiting_. It would remain so until Mother Talzin and her ally had come and gone, Viscus knew. No one would be willing to risk drawing her attention when she hadn’t specifically demanded their presence. They waited there as the sun rose, Maim and Viscus in solemn silence and the boys with soft, whispered exchanges and clasped hands.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, they weren’t kept waiting very long. Two small craft approached the village just as the sun cleared the top of the wall, one from above and one from the direction of the nightsisters’ compound. One of them was familiar, Mother Talzin’s personal shuttle. The other was a sleek, expensive-looking ship that he’d never seen before, all dark metal and sharp angles. They landed near one another, at the entrance of the village, settling with a cloud of kicked up sand and dust.

Viscus took a fortifying breath, and waved the boys up to their feet, turning to face them. “Kneel when your mother approaches,” he said, quiet but firm. “Do as she says immediately and without question. Do you understand?” They nodded in unison, eyes on the ground and hands clasped together.

The hiss of dual hatches opening drew his attention back around, and he turned and took a step forward, placing himself directly in front of the boys and their minder. He may not be able to protect them from what was to come, but at least he could buffer the first meeting in some small way. At the first sight of a shadow stretching through the open village gate, Viscus dropped to his knee, head bowed, hearing the four behind him quickly following suit.

The steady approach of footsteps on the hard-packed earth finally stopped directly in front of him, and Viscus bowed his head lower. “Greetings, Mother,” he said deferentially. “I present your sons, as you commanded.”

“Good,” she replied, the rough, uncanny echo of her voice much more obvious in person than over holocall. Every time he was forced to interact with Mother Talzin it was like the first time he heard her voice as a young man, its uncanny effect somehow never lessening despite repeated exposure. “Introduce them to my ally, Viscus.”

With her tacit permission, Viscus rose to his feet, finally able to get a look at this ‘ally.’ They were shorter than he expected, much shorter than Viscus himself, and obscured with a heavy black cloak. Only a pale chin and a sharp, thin-lipped mouth were visible in the depths of the cavernous hood. Quickly turning his gaze away when the figure’s head turned toward him, Viscus stepped to the side and gestured Savage forward. The boy hesitated for a split second, trembling, and Viscus held his breath, but with a nervous hiccup he stood to his feet and stepped forward.

“Your son Savage, Mother,” Viscus said with a bow, silently willing strength into the boy.

The cloaked figure stepped forward, walking in a slow circle around Savage as he looked him up and down with a contemplative hum. “A bit too old, I think,” they said dismissively, their voice a harsh, guttural rasp, and waved the boy away. Savage stumbled back, shaking, and sunk back down to his knees.

Viscus closed his eyes for a moment, then let out a silent breath. “Feral, Maul,” he said with a gesture to each, and they stood on shaky legs as he called their names. Viscus heard the shift of Maim’s feet, as though he almost took a step forward, but fortunately he managed to keep control of himself.

A slight motion caught the corner of Viscus’ eye, and with his heart in his throat he glanced to the side to see a small, distinctive gold and red figure tucked in the shadows of a small alcove. _Dread_. What in the name of the gods was Dread doing out of his home _now?_ What in the hells was Malice _thinking_ , taking his eye off of him at such a dangerous time? Ruthlessly suppressing a surge of anxiety, Viscus tore his eyes away from the _foolish_ boy and set them back on the twins, fervently hoping he would at least stay out of sight and unnoticed.

Viscus’ attention was firmly recaptured when the cloaked figure reached out with a pale hand and grasped Maul’s chin, lifting his head to look directly into his face. Maul stood frozen, eyes wide, unblinking. Viscus couldn’t even see if he was breathing.

After a long moment, Mother Talzin’s ally _smiled_. It was a slow, creeping thing, stretching his thin lips in a gruesome slash across his face. “This one is strong in the force,” he said, pleased. “He will make a fine apprentice.”

Mother Talzin huffed, and a quick glance up at her face revealed a twist of distaste to her features. “Very well. Take him then. But mind that you _keep your bargain_ , Sidious. You would do well not to cross me,” she hissed, the strangeness of her voice suddenly increasing to the point Viscus could nearly feel it on his skin.

His gaze still caught by the figure, by _Sidious_ , frozen like a lizard under the eyes of a nydak, Maul didn’t react to Mother Talzin’s words. Feral, though, made a small, sharp sound of denial, his hand twitching toward his brother even as Maim grasped his shoulder and pulled him back, pressing him down into a deep bow. Savage, still shaking, reached up and grasped Feral’s hand, holding tight with his eyes still trained down.

Without another word, Mother Talzin turned and swept away, and Sidious followed. Maul blinked, shuddered, then stumbled after him in a daze, leaving his brothers behind without a glance. Victus felt his stomach turn at the display of power, stepping in front of Savage and Feral even as Maim gathered them up in his arms, so at least they didn’t have to watch their brother walk away. Feral’s soft keening sliced at Viscus’ hard heart, and he internally cursed their lot with more vigour than he had in years.

Now that the direction of his gaze wouldn’t draw that of Mother Talzin or Sidious down on him, and seeking a distraction from his dark thoughts, Viscus looked back to the alcove in which Dread had hidden himself. The boy was still there, staring intently at the departing figures’ backs as they stepped through the gates, his face a blank mask and his golden eyes shining with an uncanny light. Viscus felt a chill run down his spine as those eyes suddenly turned toward him, as though sensing his attention. There was something in that gaze, something _knowing_. Something that would feel threatening, if not for the complete lack of malicious intent.

They stared at one another for a long moment, Viscus feeling strangely caught by the boy’s piercing, luminous gold eyes. It was Dread who broke his gaze and looked back toward the gates. Their visitors were no longer visible, the distant hum of engines starting up as the ships prepared to leave. Dread frowned, a small thing, but fierce, and his jaw was set. He looked... _determined_.

Viscus felt another cold chill, his hands fisting at his sides as he watched the boy stare out from the shadows. He could tell already, nothing good would come of this.

* * *

Ouve had always been a slave. Well, not _always_ , Sugi had told her that they weren’t always, that they had parents and a home before, but she didn’t remember that time, and that was _like_ she’d always been a slave, which was the same thing really. So she’d been a slave, and her sister had been a slave, but then they met Ehsun and then suddenly they were free. Ouve hadn’t really understood what that meant at the time, except that they wouldn’t get blown up for running away anymore, but even she could feel how much better their lives were going to be.

And she was right. The next two years on Ehsun’s little ship were the happiest she could remember. They had plenty of food, Sugi started teaching her to read and all kinds of other things, they were allowed to go to sleep whenever they wanted, and they were allowed to just sit and _relax_ if they wanted to without being punished. Ehsun got them new clothes whenever they needed them, _nice_ clothes, soft fabric and bright colors. It was...really nice. Even when Ehsun was growly and snappy, she wasn’t really _scary_ once they got used to her.

Ehsun had told them after a while that she was on a hunt, which was why they travelled around so much. It was why the weequay man had bought them for her, because they looked a little bit like the man she was hunting, except not all that much like him, really. The weequay man was just _very stupid_. Ouve was _glad_ he was stupid though, otherwise they never would have met Ehsun.

Over their first months on the ship, as they had learned more and more, the two of them had started helping Ehsun with her hunt. More Sugi than Ouve, but Ouve helped with keeping the ship nice so Sugi and Ehsun had more time to work on the hunt, which was _like_ helping with the hunt so it still counted. By the time a year had passed Sugi was almost as determined as Ehsun was to find Ehsun’s friend, if only to pay her back at least a little for all that she’d done for them. With Ehsun busy in her lab making things to sell, Ouve often had to drag Sugi away from the data terminal to get her to eat or sleep. She never skipped Ouve's lessons though, even if sometimes Ouve wished she would.

Despite how much they travelled, life on Ehsun’s ship was surprisingly consistent. Lessons, Ehsun’s lab time, Sugi’s data sifting, meals and cleaning and relaxing. Time passed quickly it seemed, and Ouve found herself feeling more and more at home. It was a peaceful life, despite the occasional disruption in the form of trips to Dathomir. That was when Ehsun’s daughter would invade the ship like a little tornado, poking in all the corners and grilling Ouve and her sister on what they’d been doing, demanding Ehsun let her come with them and growling fussily when she refused.

Ouve liked Sehja, even if Sugi was still wary of her short temper. She was a funny kid, with her hissing and bossy nature. Now that Ehsun had found her friend, and her _friend’s_ friend, apparently, Ouve wondered if she would finally let her daughter join them on the ship. It was a little bit small to add more people to, but Ouve thought she wouldn’t mind sharing their small room with Sehja. It could be fun to have a friend, even one a couple years younger than Ouve. She’d never had a friend before.

The soft beep of the dermal mender shook Ouve from her thoughts, and she glanced over at the med droid curiously. Looked like it was all done. Terror had insisted that his friend’s slave chip was taken out first, and now Terror was staring down at the mark on his leg where his used to be as the droid took them away to be disposed of. Ehsun was hovering over him like a mother tooka, scowling and petting his horns. It was _cute_. Ouve didn’t know Ehsun could _be_ cute.

Ouve hopped off the counter she was sitting on and went over to the human lady, who was looking a little shocked and sitting by herself. She didn’t seem to notice Ouve approach, so she tapped her on the shoulder, then winced apologetically when the lady startled.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, lowering her shoulders and doing her best to look small and unthreatening. Not much of a stretch, considering how short she was, but it didn’t hurt to make an effort. “Sorry, I just—wanted to say hi? I’m Ouve.”

The woman stared for a moment, then shook herself and smiled a little. “Ah, hello Ouve,” she said. Her voice was soft, and a little raspy. “My name is Shmi, it’s nice to meet you.”

Ouve smiled back, relaxing a little. Shmi seemed nice, that was good. Motion in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to see Terror had gotten up and was holding Ehsun’s hand. Ehsun wasn’t looking at him anymore, but she was holding his hand back. _Cute_. Even with the really grumbly scowl on her face.

“All right, come on,” Ehsun snapped suddenly, pulling Terror toward the door. “You’re going to tell me everything, then we can figure out where to go from here.”

Shmi stood and followed, and Ouve scurried after them toward the galley. Sugi was already there making tea, and Ouve got out cups for everyone then hopped up into her favorite chair and settled in to listen.

Ehsun herded Terror over to the couch, waiting until he was sitting before she sat next to him, her eyes fixed on his face. “Who took you?” she asked quietly, fierce, her long fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Terror shrugged one shoulder, looking anywhere but at Ehsun as he glanced around the galley. “I don’t know,” he answered, his voice quiet. “He never said his name. Just some…random bounty hunter. Small time.” He paused, his jaw tightening as he took a deep breath. “He wasn’t even a slaver. ‘Just a job,’ he said. ‘Nothing personal.’”

Ehsun went still, and Ouve sucked in a quiet breath at the sudden tension in the air. “A _job_.” she said flatly, her eyes narrow. “A hired bounty hunter, on a job. _Whose_ job.”

Terror _flinched_ , finally looking over at her. “Ehsun…” he trailed off, hesitating.

Ehsun _growled_ , and Ouve held very still. She hadn’t been frightened of Ehsun since they first met when she was a stranger, but she was a little frightened by that growl. “ _Whose. Job?”_ she asked again, her hand tightening on Terror’s arm. Terror didn’t look scared, just sad and worried, so Ouve relaxed a little. Then Sugi came over with the tea and sat next to her, and she relaxed a bit more.

With a grimace, Terror looked down at his lap, his free hand clutching his knee. “He said—he said he was hired by a nightsister. To make sure I was out of the way. Not just killed but...gone. She told him where to go, and said to not leave a body, so he decided to get paid twice and sold me to a slaver.” His voice was bitter, rough with emotion, and his claws were digging into the cloth of his ragged pants.

Ehsun let go of his arm, standing abruptly and staring at nothing, startling everyone in the room. Her face was terribly blank, but her eyes—Ouve shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. She thought she’d seen Ehsun angry before. Apparently she hadn’t.

Ehsun stood there, motionless, breathing slow and deep while everyone else sat still and quiet, until she blinked and flexed her hands at her sides. “No one,” she said harshly, “Would have any reason to care about your fate, unless they had something to gain by it. And _no one_ ,” she said with an even harsher growl in her voice, “Would have anything to gain with _your disappearance_ , other than _my mother_.”

Terror, hunched on the couch, swallowed roughly. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Ehsun shuddered, her hands clenching into fists, still staring at nothing. “She will die for this,” she said flatly, quiet. “All that remains is to decide when and how.”

Terror grimaced, but didn’t argue. Ouve thought maybe he even looked a little glad. “What about Sehja?” he asked instead. ‘And—and Dread?”

Ehsun jerked into motion, pacing back and forth across the small galley as she thought, one hand unclenching to tap restlessly at her thigh. Ouve and Sugi kept their heads down, fully occupied with their tea, and a quick glance saw that Shmi was likewise holding her cup and looking away from her chair in the corner.

Ehsun stopped suddenly, resting her forehead against the bulkhead. “I can’t just _take_ Sehja with me,” she hissed. “She’s my mother’s heir now. When I kill her, Sehja will inherit everything. Mother Talzin would never let me take her off planet after that, and if I take her _without_ killing my mother, we will never be free of pursuit.” She paused breathing deep. “For Dread, if we do not wish to return to Dathomir, we would just have to get him out of the village without being seen and he can ‘disappear’ into the swamps. But Sehja…” She trailed off, still leaning against the wall and hiding her face.

Terror made a strangled, sad noise, and covered his face with his hands as he slumped over, elbows on his knees. Ouve bit her lip, looking up at Sugi, but she just looked back with a helpless grimace. If even Ehsun didn’t know what to do…

Over by the wall, Shmi shifted in her seat and cleared her throat quietly. She blanched when Ehsun turned to look at her with a frown, but Terror sat up and looked also and that seemed to encourage her enough to speak. “You said—your mother wouldn’t let you take your child, yes? So why not—if she didn’t _know_ you took her, she wouldn’t look for her, right? So just...make sure she doesn’t know to look.”

Ehsun stared blankly at her for a moment, before her eyes suddenly widened. “ _Oh_ ,” she breathed. “That’s very clever.” She stood motionless for a long, long moment, staring at nothing and thinking. Terror looked up at her with hope on his face, his eyes wide. Ouve thought he might even be holding his breath. Finally, Ehsun smiled. It was not a nice smile. It might even be the scariest smile Ouve had ever seen, but she wasn’t afraid. The smile wasn’t for _her_ , after all.

* * *


	11. interlude - Desmond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year~ ヾﾉ｡ÒㅅÓ)ﾉｼ

* * *

It burned. It started in the tips of his fingers as he touched the eye, then spread and spread with crackling heat until it engulfed his entire being. Everything was flame and heat and pain, all-consuming and eternal. There was no time or space or existence, only fire, and Desmond _burned_. He didn’t know how long he burned alone, as his sense of self slowly eroded until all that was left was agony. Suddenly there was another presence beside him, a cold, sharp, strangling presence, jagged shards of many colored glass and coiling wire, wrapping around and stabbing through him, and he clutched at it desperately even as it tied itself to him. He was filled with a bitter regret when the burning spread from him to them, but couldn’t bear even the thought of letting go.

That cool presence held him back just as tightly though, He would have sobbed with gratitude if he’d still had a voice when the burning began to fade. Slowly, too slowly, the agony dwindled into nothing. He faded into an exhausted slumber still wrapped around and through that presence of splinters and twisting strands, pierced and choked by it in a way that should have been terrible but somehow wasn’t. It was a familiar presence for all its strangeness, comforting.

It was their rage that woke him from his sleep, a possessive and furious scream as the two of them were pulled apart, and he struggled and wept and _reached_ for that last sliver of recognition even as he was taken away from it. Despairing, frightened, he faded willingly into slumber, once more alone.

It felt like he’d been asleep for only moments when he was awoken yet again by a crawling, stinging, _invading_ pain. He jerked into awareness to find himself being held by strong, cold hands, suspended in a bowl etched with uncanny green light, and there was something red reaching _out of the bowl_ and it was _on_ him and _under his skin_ and it _burned_ and _itched_ like stinging insects, he tried to squirm away but those cold hands were hard and he was so weak, his limbs not responding how they should, so all he could do was struggle and cry. He _hated_ it, but helplessness was a familiar feeling, and he resigned himself to the pain.

It didn’t last as long as pain usually did for him, at least. As the pain began to fade, while he was still gasping from the strength of it, the cold, hard hands lifted him up, and soft, warm cloth wrapped around him as he was pulled close to someone else. Someone familiar, in a strange way, like he knew them from a dream. He was being held tight in warm, strong arms by someone who felt of sunlight on smooth stone, of a firm grip on a wooden spear, of spice on the tongue and a soft smile and a quiet laugh, and his trembling began to subside. He felt... _safe_ , even with the lingering remnants of that burning pain _._ He couldn’t remember ever feeling safe before, not truly.

That feeling of safety remained, as his awareness settled and he started to observe his surroundings. He was never far from those warm arms, rarely set down for longer than a few moments before being scooped back up. He spent much of his time in a sling, resting against a broad chest and looking out at the world from a cocoon of fabric wrapping. He tested his strength and control of his body carefully in that cocoon, with cautious squirming, grasping, pulling and pushing, only to receive soothing touches and comforting sounds in a smooth, soft voice for his troubles. Gentle touch was also an unfamiliar sensation, but... _good_ , and he leaned into those warm hands.

As his senses improved, his blurred vision slowly sharpening, he started noting the strangeness of his surroundings. The buildings were alien, all crumbling edges and dusty brown or gray, with unfamiliar silhouettes. The people were even more alien, almost all of them in shades of brown and _orange_ , heavily marked with dark tattoos, not a strand of hair among them but what looked like _horns_ instead. With his thoughts as hazy and confused as they were, he wasn’t sure what exactly was so strange about the horns, but it definitely was.

His near constant companion and protector was strange even among the others, though, with his bright gold and deep red coloring. Eventually he noticed that his own coloring matched exactly, and it was...good. He liked that they matched, their colors tying them together undeniably. He liked that the arms that held him so gently, the hands that pet his head so softly clearly belonged to someone related to him. His family _._ They called him Dread, but they said it like it was his name, and even though he knew it wasn’t they said it with such warmth that he didn’t mind.

Once he started grasping the meaning of the words spoken around him and to him he realized, the person carrying him around wasn’t _just_ family. He was his _father._ A father who radiated warm approval, love, tender care and devotion. A father who didn’t seem to expect anything, had no demands, didn’t push and push and _push_ him to advance, to be stronger, better, _faster_ , but just held him and talked to him and played silly games and _laughed_ and—if he thought about it too much, if he started to wonder, ~~remember,~~ why it was so strange to be loved like that, he would start to cry, and his father would fuss and worry and usually cry _himself_ which completely broke his heart, so he just pushed it away, didn’t think about it, didn’t try to understand and just...reveled it.

He wasn’t sure how long it was just the two of them, but then someone new came to the village. New, but also strangely familiar. She was the first person he’d seen so far who didn’t look undeniably male, and she was _fascinating_. So different from everyone else around him. Pale, _so_ pale, a warm toned light gray where everyone else was some shade of brown or orange or red. Her markings were only on her face, not her arms or neck. She had _hair_ , no horns, just...hair. But despite her wildly different appearance from everyone he’d grown used to since he woke up, she still felt _familiar_.

He remembered that sense of familiarity. It was the same as he’d felt for his father, even if she didn’t feel the same way. He looked at her and thought of a scalpel, a precision blade with a mirror finish, and he thought of colored liquids in glass vials, vapors rising. She stepped closer and he tasted salt and copper, and blood in his mouth. She was happy to see him, and even happier to see his father, but she definitely didn’t look it. There was a scowl on her face as his father carried him closer, and her foot was tapping impatiently even as her presence brightened at the sight of them.

She was there to take them somewhere else, apparently. And she had a _hoverbike_. He was immediately addicted. The speed it traveled at was a shock after so long getting everywhere at his father’s walking pace, and he couldn’t help laughing with sheer delight at the feel of the wind whipping past them. His father’s amusement tickled his awareness, apparently sparked by his own glee, which fed into his enjoyment of the ride.

His intermittent giggling stopped abruptly after a while, as they emerged from the swamp and approached the entrance to what looked like a massive mountain cavern. There was something ahead, something—some _one_ , and they were _important._ He caught his breath as they got closer, the presence he felt coming clear, and he _knew_ them. He knew those jagged shards and strangling coils like he knew his own hands, _better_ even. He started to wiggle helplessly, willing the hoverbike to go even faster, a faint note rising from his throat without thought. His father’s mirth turned to concern, and his arm tightened around him, but he just couldn’t stop shifting, straining toward that presence ahead.

Finally, finally finally _finally_ they stopped, pulling into a parking bay next to a huge, dark stone pillar complex surrounded by glowing pools of liquid. The fleeting thought that the whole aesthetic was completely ridiculous skated across his awareness, but most of his focus was dedicated to reaching with everything in him toward that familiar presence. They were _reaching back_ , and the soft note in his throat grew a little louder.

It seemed like no time at all before he was being carried into a small apartment, his father and the woman exchanging confused and worried glances over his head. He only caught them out of the corner of his eye, as his gaze was fixed unerringly on the small, pale figure reaching toward him from across the room. They were placed on the floor next to each other, and the other child immediately wrapped around him, holding on fiercely. His _brother,_ apparently, or at least he was _their_ brother? No it felt right, calling him brother. He looked like the woman, who was his mother it turned out, so that seemed to indicate that his brother was a girl, but there was something distinctly off about that thought so he ignored it. It didn’t matter, his brother was his brother, he could feel it in his _bones_.

The next few weeks were the happiest he’d ever been, in this or any life. He very carefully didn’t examine that thought, choosing instead to focus on getting to know his mother, on reacquainting himself with his brother, on enjoying the games and stories and near constant contact with his father in warmth and safety. Unfortunately, it couldn’t last. Even though their mother explained _why_ they had to leave, that didn’t make it hurt any less to be dragged away from his brother once again. He found himself crying helplessly as the door closed between them, the piercing shriek of his brother’s rage suddenly muffled but still audible.

He continued to cry the entire way back to the village, pressed tight between his father’s chest and his mother’s back, near-silent hitching sobs muffled in the fabric of the sling. His father’s breath above him was unsteady, obviously affected by his emotions, and a pained air was wafting off his mother’s presence. At least when his mother left again, still trailing a sense of worried fretting, his father stayed, a near constant companion, radiating love and concern. He knew he was quieter than before, solemn, and it worried his father terribly, but he just couldn’t _help_ it. Eventually his father’s affection and determinedly cheerful disposition drew him out of his funk somewhat, but there was still an edge of melancholy to his mood that never really went away. He _missed his brother._

But then, after one of the rare times his father left him in the care of someone else and went elsewhere for a while, he...didn’t come back. He waited, at first patiently, then with growing concern, and eventually with frantic worry but he _didn’t come back_. He was taken from the small room his father had left him in with a handful of other young boys and brought to the home of a stranger. No, not a stranger, a familiar man. The one with the cold hands who had put him in the bowl that woke him, a man with a powerfully conflicted presence, a man of bitterness and the chill of a winter night, but also the protective strength of the village walls and the welcoming crackle of a campfire in the darkness.

He waited silently, his weak arms wrapped tightly around himself as he sat in the corner of that man’s home, tucked under a threadbare blanket. No one explained, no one talked to him, they just glanced at him with worried eyes and grimaces as they came and went. His father had gone hunting, and when he didn’t return others were sent to look for him, but they didn’t find him. From what he overheard, they did find his father’s spear, which sent a cold chill through his body. They also found what seemed to be signs of some kind of flying craft that had landed nearby. Someone had come and _taken_ his father, and no one knew why.

Eventually they stopped looking.

He was taken to another home after that, still with no explanations. It was likely they thought he was too young to understand, so they didn’t bother to try. A man named Malice took over caring for him, a dusty brown-red man with dark brown marks and small horns. His leg was splinted thoroughly, which seemed to be why he’d been chosen to watch over a newly-unattended child. It obviously wasn’t because he wanted to. He could feel the reluctance from the man, the uneasiness every time his new caretaker glanced his way palpable to his increasingly sensitive perception.

It didn’t take long to realize that his minder didn’t like him, was wary of him for some reason. It was fine, he didn’t _need_ the man to like him. And it wasn’t as though he was ever harmed, or starved, or anything like that. He was perfectly nice, just not—he wasn’t his _father_. It was fine. He also quickly learned to keep his questions to himself, since they only distressed Malice even more than his general presence did, enough to get the leader of the village to _talk_ to him about them. Anyway, he had plenty to keep himself busy with, he didn’t need his caretaker to entertain him like he was an _actual child_ and not...whatever he was.

When he wasn’t in the (boring, simple, mind-numbing) lessons with the village’s other boys, he could find somewhere to sit and look out over the swamp and wonder what his brother was doing, or his mother, think of where his father might be, and how he was going to set out and find him once he was strong enough that it was remotely feasible. When he tired of that, he could engage in the simple games the other boys liked to play. After a while, Malice even started “teaching” him how to use a bow, despite his distaste for his company, which was nice of him.

But most interestingly of all, were his forays into the blacksmith’s forge. He had a little knowledge of the skill already tucked away in his brain, which he found out the first time he snuck in to see how it worked, but not enough. He _needed_ to know more. Fortunately, after shooing him away several times, Havoc finally agreed to teach him, and Malice _let_ him, much to his surprise and delight. Havoc also didn’t look at him with wary eyes, or twitch when he did anything strange, or even just when he opened his mouth to speak. It didn’t take long before he was finding more and more excuses to spend time in the man’s workshop. Havoc wasn’t effusive with praise, but the blacksmith’s sharp nods of approval and little half-smiles warmed something in his chest. He was a good teacher.

Time passed slowly in the dusty little village, but pass it did. His routine continued largely unchanged until a couple months after his sixth birthday. It was evening when Brother Viscus came to the door of Malice’s small house. Whatever they spoke of in the quick, quiet conversation between the two men, just out of his hearing, had Malice’s emotions swing wildly from his generally anxious presence to a quickly suppressed blinding panic, which set his own pulse thundering in his ears with fear. Malice didn’t share whatever had frightened him so badly, after Brother Viscus left again. All he said was that the next morning, he wasn’t to leave their home until Malice said he could.

He frowned, and nodded hesitantly, but carefully didn’t agree out loud. Normally he saw no reason to disobey commands, but something about this felt— _different_. Something was going to happen that he needed to see, it was _important_. It was easy enough to slip out the window on silent feet at dawn, while Malice was still sleeping. He hadn’t had any difficulty moving soundlessly in a very long time, and Malice was a surprisingly heavy sleeper. He crept up the outside of the house to perch on the corner of the roof, peering around the village for any signs of movement. It didn’t take long for him to spy Brother Viscus and the village elder Maim heading for the gates, three small figures in tow. He didn’t know why they were taking Savage, Maul, and Feral toward the square, but it felt...wrong. Something was _wrong_.

He slipped back down to the ground, ghosting through the narrow alleys as he followed the small group until they stopped before the gates and just _stood_ there. They were waiting for something. Close enough now to get a good read on them, they were all radiating some level of fear or resigned desperation, and Savage was on the very edge of complete panic. His breath hissed through his teeth as he suppressed an anxious growl, and he tucked himself behind the edge of a wall near the square, where two buildings met to form a corner of shadows, and waited with them.

Eventually the sudden tension in Brother Viscus’ frame alerted him to something approaching. Two flying craft that appeared to be actual _spaceships_ were nearing the village from two different directions, and in each of them he could sense something that he knew would have had his hair standing on end if he still had any. As they landed he could feel the tips of his fingers actually start _trembling_ as the choking black clouds from one ship and the seeping tar from the other drew closer. He pulled back further into the shadows, ducking low, a step away from holding his breath at the sheer level of _threat_ he felt.

The second the shadows crept past the gate, his eyes started to itch. With every inch they stretched across the ground it grew worse, but somehow he knew that he should keep them open, he _needed_ to keep them open. As the two figures stepped through the gate and into view, a stab of pain flashed his vision white for a split second, and then all he could see was— _red_. A sickly haze of vivid red hung all over the two beings, glowing in the light of the sun. He couldn’t be seen, it was _vital_ that neither of these people became aware of him before he was fully able to protect himself, or he would die. Or _worse_.

Fortunately, their attention was firmly on the small group out in the open. Neither of them spared a single glance for their surroundings. He was too far away to hear anything that was said, but it was clear what was happening. Some kind of transaction was taking place, and the _product_ was a _child_. He strangled a helpless, _furious_ growl before it managed to escape his throat as he watched the menacing, blood-drenched adults tower over the terrified boys while the two men beside them did _nothing_.

No. That was unfair. Maim and Brother Viscus clearly had no power there, he sensed nothing but resigned despair and grief from the two of them, no glee or satisfaction or greed. They were victims of whatever this horrible system entailed as much as Savage, Feral, and Maul were, that was obvious. As the cloaked figure loomed over the twins, Brother Viscus glanced his way and seemed to catch his eye, widening his own with an air of sudden panic then quickly looking away without a word, his shoulders tense. For all the man’s stern looks and cold pretense, where the two strangers were glowing crimson, Viscus was a rich, vibrant blue.

Whatever criteria they were selecting with, the figures seemed to make their decision quickly. A sickening tendril of red reached out from the shorter, cloaked being to wrap around Maul’s head, seeping into him and disappearing. He shuddered at the sight, his stomach roiling with unease at the vacant stare on the younger boy's face as he staggered after the strangers. He watched them go, his nails digging into his palms as they disappeared through the gates, a strange, shivery tension in his frame. He wanted to run, to _leap_ , to—to _fight_ , but he _couldn’t_ , he would only get himself killed if he tried.

Feeling eyes on him he turned back to the square. Maim had pulled Savage and Feral into his arms, the three of them huddled together on the dusty ground, but Brother Viscus was staring directly at him, his face blank but his emotions swirling around him like a storm. The man said nothing, though, so he looked away once more, watching the ships lift off and fly away. All of this, it was—it was _wrong_. Someone needed to do something about it, clearly.

He’d have to step up his training, if he was going to be prepared to act any time soon.

* * *


	12. Terror and Havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hop aboard the feels train! (ﾉಥДಥ)ﾉ✧・ﾟ:*
> 
> (this fic will now be updated in a rotation with _set all your mind upon the steep ascent_ , so slightly longer time between chapters. less chance of burning out on it though, so silver linings!)

* * *

Terror had thought, many times over the years, that he would die out there, far from home. That he would never see his children again, his children who had somehow become his entire world, had become _so central_ to his happiness. That he would never see _Ehsun_ again, who he should by all rights have hated, but who had come to mean so much to him. He tried to keep his spirits up, to keep thinking and planning and hoping for an opportunity, to keep working towards a way to get back to them, but as time passed, as he thought he got close only to have his freedom snatched from his grasp over and over again, he started to find it...difficult.

He was very fortunate, he learned later, that the bounty hunter who had been hired to take him from Dathomir had no real contacts among the syndicates who dominated the slave trade. He likely would have ended up in many ways much worse off, if the man had any idea of what some people might have paid for him.

As it was, his experiences left him worn to his bones, haggard and scarred, but at least he hadn’t ended up locked up tight in a pleasure house somewhere. By the time he came into the hands of anyone who had an eye for product, he was far too scarred and weathered to be attractive to such establishments, which Terror grimly thanked the Fanged God for. Hard labor, harsh conditions, fighting and bloodshed, all of these things he understood, could bear.

But it was over, finally. Ehsun had _found him_ , somehow. After that initial meeting, as the small group settled in to get some rest before their next move, Terror found himself standing in Ehsun’s bunk room, staring blankly at the wall, just—trying to _process_. The explosive chip was gone, and he was on Ehsun’s ship. Ehsun had a _ship_. She’d been—the whole time, she’d been looking for him. He’d known, intellectually, after that description from a fellow slave on Nal Hutta, that she’d been looking but—she’d been _looking_.

A noise behind him startled him out of his thoughts, and he jerked, spinning around with an arm up for defense. It was Ehsun, closing the door behind her. His quick movement had her taking a step back, her eyes widening, and Terror sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his hand, flinching faintly.

“S-sorry,” he said roughly, taking a step back himself until he bumped up against the wall of the tiny room. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

Ehsun frowned, looking uncharacteristically concerned. “Are you hurt?” she asked sharply, giving him a thorough scan with her eyes as though she hadn’t been doing that every few minutes since she’d dragged him out of Mas- _Gardulla’s_ palace.

He barked a sharp, surprisingly bitter laugh, firmly repressing the wave of hysteria trying to crawl up his throat. He didn’t remember what it felt like to _not_ be hurt, anymore. “...No,” he said finally, swallowing and looking away. “I’m fine.”

She hissed, striding forward to wrap her fingers tightly around his wrist. “You’re _not_. You’re not fine. But you will be,” she said firmly. “We’ll go home, and you’ll hold our children while I burn my mother’s home down around her, and then we’ll _leave_ and you’ll be _fine_.”

With his eyes fixed on her hand, on the contrast of her pale skin against the red of the stripes on his arms, Terror shuddered, feeling something crack inside him. Something cold, cracking and breaking and falling off, like a sheet of ice falling from the moss on a tree during their few winter months. His sight grew blurry, and he felt tears spill down his cheeks as the first silent sob wracked his body. Ehsun made a sharp sound of alarm as he slid down the wall to sit on the cold floor, his false leg twisted awkwardly to the side, and buried his face in his hands.

“Terror, _what_ —should I do something?” She snapped the question sharply, but even through his own distress he could tell how much seeing him cry upset her. The flutter of her hand as she rested it against his horns proved as much.

He leaned into the touch helplessly, trying to swallow his sobs of— _relief_ , that’s what it was, he was just so _relieved._ He shook his head with a jerk, slowly strangling his tears into sniffles. Ehsun sat beside him stiffly, clearly out of her element but still keeping her fingers laced through his horns. Suddenly exhausted, he let himself lean sideways into her shoulder, his heart warming when she didn’t shift away.

Finally, he'd recovered enough to gasp out another apology, which Esuhn dismissed with an irritable wave of her free hand. He smiled helplessly, still leaning ever so slightly against her shoulder. He'd _missed_ her. Now all that remained was to get his children back in his arms.

Gods, they had to be so _big_ , he hadn't seen them for _so long_. The thought of everything he'd not been there for almost set him back to sobbing, but he managed to breathe through the stab of pain. He'd had a long time to think about how much he missed them, after all, to think about all the firsts that he’d never get to see, and to grow accustomed to that loss. He tried not to wonder if Dread was really alright, if someone was taking good care of him. He didn’t really have any close friends in the village, more casual acquaintances with everyone than anything, but nightbrothers didn’t abandon their own. Surely _someone_ was caring for his child.

With a deep, fortifying breath, he pushed his brooding thoughts away and sat back up, giving Ehsun another grateful smile. "Sorry," he said one more time, ducking his head sheepishly when she gave him an impatient sniff.

"You should rest," she said suddenly, rising to her feet and looking away from him and towards the door. "Take the bunk, I need to go set a course for Corellia. The ship is the first step, and that's the best place to get something decent, and under budget."

Without another word, but with one last brush of her fingers against his horns, she left him alone, only hesitating at the door for a split second before closing it behind her. Terror let out a shuddering breath, leaning back against the wall. Sleep would be...good. He was tired most of the time, these days. Carefully heaving himself up off the floor, he staggered over to the small bunk and collapsed onto it with a sigh.

The throbbing, pulsing ache in his leg told him he’d best remove the false limb or suffer the consequences the next day, but the thought of being that much less able to defend himself still left him shuddering, even after months to get used to it. But—he was on Ehsun’s ship, it should be fine. At the very least, he’d have enough warning to strap it back on, if something went wrong. He unbuckled the belts with a hiss of relief and tucked the limb between the bunk and the wall, out of the way. Shmi had done an amazing job on it, considering the materials they had access to, but there was only so much even she could do to make it comfortable.

He carefully rubbed as much of the soreness out of what remained of his leg as he could, then tucked himself under Ehsun's thick blankets and tried to relax. He expected to have at least some trouble falling asleep, considering everything that had happened, but it felt like only moments later that he was woken by the sound of Shmi softly calling his name.

As he drifted muzzily to awareness, it could have been just one of many similar mornings since he’d started recovering from his injury. Shmi was often the one who woke him, then helped him out of the slave quarters to the little room that he earned his keep in, mending the household’s shabby clothing and linens until his fingers cramped, until it was time to drop back onto his thin blanket and sleep not nearly long enough before starting it all again.

Despair threatened to swamp him as he curled in on himself, sucking in a wavering breath, hoping desperately that he hadn’t dreamed it, dreamed finally leaving his master’s palace, but—it was _cold_. The air around him was much, much colder than it had ever been in Gardulla’s palace. And he was laying on something softer than he’d felt since— _oh_ , since he’d stayed with Ehsun, while she was pregnant, and then for a little while again, later. _Ehsun_. Had Ehsun really found him? Or was his mind playing a cruel, _cruel_ trick, and he would open his eyes and be back there, back in Master’s horrible hands, waiting for the moment she would decide he wasn’t worth feeding anymore, have someone take him outside and slit his throat and leave him for the womp rats.

A soft hand on his shoulder jolted him from his panicky thoughts and he flinched, jerking his head up, his eyes opening almost against his will. It was Shmi, looking more worried than he’d seen her since he woke up in a feverish daze in the healer’s room. Oh—he _wasn’t_ on Tatooine, the walls were cold metal and the ceiling low, electric lights glowing bright. He was on Ehsun’s ship. He shuddered, swallowed roughly, then summoned up a small smile for Shmi, to let her know he was fine. She didn’t look convinced.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely, still trying to drag his thoughts into order, exhausted like he hadn’t slept at all. “Good morning. What—is it time to get up?”

She frowned, giving him a reluctant nod and letting her hand fall away as he sat up. “Yes, Ehsun said we’re approaching our destination. It’s been a few hours. She sent me to get you for a meal.” She paused for a moment, clearly weighing her words. “She’s...different, than I expected.”

He blinked, confused. “How so?”

“The way you talk about her is so warm, I just—expected her to be more like you, that’s all.” She shrugged, looking away with a small, embarrassed grimace.

Terror couldn’t help but laugh, a little. As if someone as strong as Ehsun would ever be anything like him. “Ah, I see,” he said, amused. “Don’t let her snarling fool you, she’s much kinder than she pretends.”

Shmi rolled her eyes. “Obviously, or she wouldn’t have spent so much time looking for _you_.” The ‘you laserbrain’ was clearly audible, even though she didn’t say it in so many words. "Hurry up and come out before the food gets cold, Sugi and Ouve worked hard on it." With that she reached out and patted his shoulder, then left him to get his false leg back on and make his way out after her.

There was an impressive amount of food laid out on the little table, by the time Terror stepped into the small galley. And it wasn't thin, watery womp rat soup and haroun bread, it was _meat_. Not _only_ meat, but protein was definitely in ready supply. It was almost enough to make his fangs ache, and the grumble of his stomach was loud enough to make the littlest girl giggle. _Ouve_ , that was her name. He gave her a warm smile as she handed him a plate piled high with better smelling food than he’d seen in years.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, dipping his head in a small bow. “It smells wonderful.”

She beamed back at him, almost wiggling in her seat with delight. What a cute kid. “Thanks! There’s more if you want, too. Ehsun said you were too skinny, so eat a bunch okay?”

His smile turned wry as he tucked into the food with another nod. He hadn’t really looked at himself much over the last few years, but he imagined that the difference between when Ehsun saw him last and now was a stark one. As good as the food tasted, it was no hardship to eat his fill, and he was on his second plate when Ehsun popped her head out of the cockpit. Her eyes landed on him unerringly, and she looked pleased to see him eating.

“We’ll be landing soon. Finish up and strap in, I don’t want the lot of you rattling around while I’m trying to pilot.”

Without another word, she disappeared back into the cockpit. Terror bolted the last of his meal, long-practiced at eating quickly and efficiently, then followed Ouve and her sister to the flight seats. For all Ehsun’s concerns about them rattling around, the descent was a smooth one, and it wasn’t long before they’d landed with barely a bump.

Ehsun swept back out while they were still unbuckling, pulling on a sleek black coat and heading straight for the hatch. “Stay put, I shouldn’t be long. If someone arrives with a refrigerated crate before I get back, just have them put it in the cargo bay.” She tapped the controls, but paused as the hatch hissed open. She looked back at Terror with a frown, then turned her gaze to Ouve’s sister. “Keep your blaster on you,” she said sharply, her eyes narrow. “Don’t let anyone on board except the courier, and them only in the cargo bay.”

The girl nodded sharply, her face set and determined. Ehsun nodded back then hopped out of the ship, not bothering to extend the ladder. Terror took a deep breath, consciously relaxing the sudden tension in his frame as she disappeared from sight. Ehsun knew what she was doing, she’d be _fine_. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Shmi’s worried frown.

“You should get some more sleep,” she said quietly. “I can stay up with the girls until Ehsun gets back.”

He grimaced, hesitating. He _was_ still exhausted, but he was always tired these days, so that was nothing new. “No, I should stay up. What if you need me for something?”

Shmi rolled her eyes. “If we need you, we can wake you. Go _rest_.”

Slowly, he gave her a hesitant nod. Shmi _was_ entirely capable. And to be perfectly honest, Terror wasn’t much use to anyone in the state he was in, really. “Alright,” he sighed. “But make sure you do wake me if you need anything, I can always sleep while we’re in hyperspace.”

He allowed Shmi to nudge him back toward Ehsun’s bunk, reluctant but at the same time longing to curl back up under the thick blankets for a while and get warm. He’d grown accustomed to the dry, baking heat of Tatooine. The chill of space had his bones and scars and _leg_ all aching fiercely. Once again, buried under the welcome weight of the blankets, he slipped easily and quickly into a heavy, blessedly dreamless sleep.

Next time he woke, it was to Ehsun’s voice, not Shmi’s. She was sitting on the edge of the bunk, peering at him with her brows furrowed, either in irritation or concern, he couldn’t quite tell. He blinked up at her, dazed, still muzzy with sleep, before reaching up to rub at his eyes.

“You’re back,” he said roughly, trying to drag his thoughts into some semblance of order. “Did you get the ship?”

“Hm. Yes,” she said quietly, still watching him with her sharp eyes. “And the courier has come and gone, as well. You’ve been asleep for nearly four hours. Everything is in place, and we're ready to leave. Are you still alright to go with the others?”

He sat up, rubbing his hands roughly over his face. “Yes, I can—yes. Sorry.”

She frowned, looking conflicted, but didn’t argue. She needed to be the only one on this ship if the plan was going to work at all, he was surprised she’d even asked. It wasn't like her to ask pointless questions.

“Sugi is a good pilot,” she said finally, quiet, looking away. “You’ll be safe with her. And it’s only four days from here to Dathomir.”

 _Ah_. He smiled helplessly, warmed through and through by her awkward attempt at reassurance. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She huffed, her nose wrinkling as she stood to leave. “I wasn’t _worried_ , don’t be an idiot. Get ready to go.”

He hid his urge to laugh with a small cough, hiding his smile behind his hand. “Of course not,” he said warmly. “My apologies.”

He managed to hold in his delighted laugh at her offended hiss until she’d closed the door behind herself. She hadn’t changed in the slightest, and he was glad of it.

* * *

Dread had been acting...strange, since Mother Talzin’s visit to the village. Well. Stranger than normal, anyway. Dread had always been a weird kid. Recently though, Havoc noticed him drifting into solemn, dark moods whenever he wasn’t occupied or didn’t know someone was observing him. He would stare off at nothing, with a strained, weary look that was much too old for his chubby, childish features. Havoc wasn’t _concerned_ precisely, just...okay he was concerned. But when he asked the kid what was wrong all he did was shrug and evade, more skillfully than any six year old had a right to, honestly.

He resolved to just let him be, so he could work through whatever he had bouncing around in his little skull in his own time. At least it never interfered with his work. He was always focused in the forge, watching Havoc’s every move with fierce attention, like he was trying to commit every last twitch of his hands to memory. Now and then Havoc fancied the kid’s eyes _flashed_ , almost like they were glowing for a split second, which was a little eerie. It was probably just a weird trick of the light, a reflection from the flames in the forge, but every time it made something shiver down his spine.

In any case, even if Dread _was_ a little stranger than before, he was still a good kid, and Havoc...didn’t hate having him around. Even when he wasn’t actively teaching the boy, he often found him underfoot or in the vicinity, and for some reason he never felt the need to send him on his way. If he’d been a hindrance that would be one thing, but he was such a clever, quiet kid, and he never interrupted Havoc’s work for the village, so he let him be. He wasn’t overly enamored with Malice’s level of care for his charge anyway, better to keep his apprentice where he could see him, and out of trouble.

A couple weeks after Dread got even stranger, he suddenly decided to ramp up the weirdness _even more_. While Havoc was busy trying to figure out if he had enough supplies to replenish the hunters with arrowheads, or if he’d have to send someone hunting for metal in the caves in the cliffs, Dread suddenly froze motionless where he was perched on a counter nearby. He was _supposed_ to be sharpening a spear head. Instead, he was staring at the wall, his hands still. His whole _body_ was still, an unnatural stillness that was honestly a little unsettling.

After a long moment where Dread continued to not move a single muscle, from what Havoc could tell, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Kid?”

Dread hummed faintly in response, his face still turned toward the wall, but that was it.

Havoc frowned, his concern rising. “Dread? What—”

“I need to go into the swamp,” Dread interrupted suddenly, his tone...off.

“The hells you do,” Havoc said sharply, setting his stylus and flimsi down on his rickety table. Dread turned to him with a frown, and—ah _kark_ , his eyes were definitely glowing. The pale gold was lit from within, and the forge was banked, no flames to reflect. The room was dim, barely enough light without the fires going to read his own handwriting. Havoc sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his entire body twitch. _What_.

“I do,” Dread said insistently, his small hand clenching tight on the whetstone. “I don’t—I don’t know _why_ , but it’s _important_.”

Havoc grimaced, looking away from Dread’s eyes. He very carefully didn’t think about why they might be glowing, didn’t think about potential witch powers in his little apprentice, didn’t wonder what might happen to him if the witches ever _noticed_. “You’re _six_ , Dread, you know full well you aren’t to leave the village alone.”

Dread hopped off the counter, dropping the spearhead and whetstone and placing himself firmly back in Havoc’s line of sight. “Havoc, I _need to go into the swamp._ ” His eyes were back to normal, much to Havoc’s immense relief, but he still couldn’t quite repress a shiver of unease. With Dread peering up at him, an intent, serious expression on his small face, as though he was _willing_ Havoc to understand, to _believe_ , he felt himself waver. Ah, _hells_. This was gonna end _so badly_.

“...Fine,” he sighed. “But you stay _on my heels_ , you understand?” he added with a sharp look. “None of your wandering, you do not _leave my side_ unless I tell you to, and if I tell you to run you _do it,_ without question, right back to the village.”

Dread didn’t look happy that Havoc had agreed, but he did look relieved, underneath his determination. Havoc had a feeling that even if he’d said no the kid would have snuck over the walls anyway. With a sigh from the very depths of his soul, Havoc heaved himself to his feet. Now all he had to do was figure out some excuse to be taking a _six year old_ into the _swamp_.

He glanced around the workshop, hoping to spark an idea, and his eyes landed on his stock of spear shafts. They _were_ running low. He could, theoretically, be taking his apprentice with him to cut some hwotha canes to replenish his stores. It wouldn’t even be all that strange, really. Carrying a bunch of hwotha _and_ the tools he needed to cut them back to the village was always incredibly awkward, it would be nice to have another pair of hands along.

Decided, he bundled up the saw and hatchet in a narrow roll of heavy fabric he would use to tie the hwotha later under one arm, picked up his own heavy spear in the other hand, and jerked his head for Dread to follow. As expected, the gate watch let him out without hesitation, even giving him a sympathetic grimace at his misfortune for having to wrangle a child alone outside the walls. He returned the look with a huff and a roll of his eyes, then led his apprentice toward the edge of the swamp.

As soon as they were out of sight of the village, Dread set off in as straight a line as possible toward the cliffs on the far side of the trees. How he knew where he was going, Havoc very deliberately did not contemplate. Better to not even consider, or wonder, or _question_ , just in case some of the rumored witch powers were real and they picked something up from Havoc later that would put his apprentice in danger.

They slogged across the sucking wet ground for at least an hour before Dread so much as hesitated, passing not one, but _two_ perfectly good stands of hwotha with nice, straight canes. Grumbling under his breath, growing increasingly irritated at his own weakness for his apprentice’s whims, Havoc almost didn’t notice when Dread jerked to a sudden stop, barely stopping himself from running into the boy.

“What—”

“ _Shh_ ,” Dread interrupted, flapping a hand at him and peering ahead.

Havoc huffed, offended, but turned his attention to straining his eyes, trying to see whatever had drawn the boy’s gaze. All he saw was mud, trees, moss, and muck. The occasional lizard. Bugs. Just like the rest of the swamp. “What is it?” he whispered, hefting the spear in his hand.

Dread hummed faintly, but didn’t reply. He just started moving again, more cautiously this time, his tiny feet almost entirely soundless even in the sucking mud. Havoc nearly groaned in frustration when he saw Dread’s eyes were glowing again. Karking _hells_. How did he get himself _into_ this?

It wasn’t much longer before Havoc, too, could see something ahead. A small break in the swamp, a rising bit of ground much drier than the rest, and something glinting between the trees. Something... _metal_. Havoc hissed, jerking forward to get in front of Dread, but the little pest just dashed around him again and kept moving toward the clearing, glowing eyes fixed intently and a little frown of concentration on his face.

“ _Dread,_ ” Havoc whispered harshly, trying once more to block his progress and wishing desperately he had a free hand to just snatch the boy off the ground. “What do you think you’re doing? That could be _anyone_.”

The boy paused, frowning up at him. “No, it’s—they’re _important_ , not—not dangerous. I _have_ to go over there. Havoc, _please._ ”

Havoc nearly wheezed with the strength of his frustration, trying desperately to think of some way to get his apprentice to see _sense_ , but his little face was fiercely determined, and Havoc knew a losing battle when he saw one. With a near silent groan, he dropped his bundle of tools in the muck and got a firm grip on his spear.

“If you get us both killed, I reserve the right to say I told you so,” he said balefully. He definitely wasn’t warmed by the brilliant, grateful smile on Dread’s face. He was too busy being horrified by his own stupidity.

Quietly, carefully, the two of them crept toward the clearing, Dread entirely silent now and Havoc doing his level best (and succeeding pretty well, thank you, even if Dread _was_ making him look like the clumsiest oaf in the village, the little _shit)_. Eventually they were close enough to see that the metal was, indeed, a ship. A larger one than Havoc had ever seen, even. At least a few times the size of the occasional transport shuttle a higher ranked nightsister would use to visit the village. He didn’t know nearly enough about ships to make any kind of judgement on purpose or quality, but it _looked_ like a capable vessel.

Clearing one more clump of trees let them see that there was a large hatch standing open, though no one was visible near it. Dread paused there, once again frowning fiercely as he peered toward the ship, before huffing quietly.

“They’re all inside,” he whispered. “Four people. None of them will hurt us though, and I think—I think I _know_ one of them.”

Havoc stared at the back of Dread’s head, baffled. Ignoring the fact that he knew how many people were on the ship, and whether or not they were dangerous (because Havoc did _not want to know_ how the boy knew that), how in the gods’ names would a six year old boy from the nightbrother village know someone on an unfamiliar ship out in the swamp?

He didn’t get the chance to ask. After another moment staring, Dread sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes widened. Without warning, he burst into motion, running as fast as he could directly for the open hatch. With a strangled shout of alarm Havoc followed, cursing under his breath. Unfortunately, he was too slow to catch the boy before his feet hit the metal of the hatch’s ramp. From inside the ship there was a high pitched yelp and a clatter, then the sound of a deeper voice shouting something that Havoc couldn’t parse over the thundering of his pulse.

As he rounded the side of the ship, spear held ready, he stumbled to a halt at the sight in front of him. There were two girls, with horns like nightbrothers but also with _hair_ , and an older one, strangely dark-skinned for a woman, dark enough that she couldn’t possibly be a nightsister, but it was none of them that had him feeling suddenly faint. No, it was the red and gold nightbrother collapsed in a heap on the ship’s floor, wrapped around his apprentice and sobbing his heart out, that had Havoc wavering on his feet. Terror, that was _Terror, what_ —

Another yelp from the taller girl jerked him out of the spiralling panic of his thoughts, as she produced what was clearly some kind of weapon and pointed it at him. “Don’t move!” she shouted, teeth bared like a proud little hunter, even if she still had the knobby knees and elbows of an adolescent. “Drop the stick!”

Bewildered, Havoc looked from her back to Terror, still curled desperately around Havoc’s apprentice, and numbly dropped his spear to clatter against the metal floor. “What...in the _kark_ ,” he whispered. “ _Terror?_ Dread, what…”

Dread shook his head, burying his face in his father’s chest and hiccuping. Terror drew in a shuddering breath, still clutching his son tight with one arm even as he raised the other to wipe roughly across his face. Havoc noticed suddenly, with a twist in his gut, that one of Terror’s legs ended abruptly below the knee before continuing into some kind of metal replacement. A corner of his mind couldn’t help but perk up at the sight of the metal limb though, trying to figure out how it all fit together even as he struggled to make sense of _everything else_.

“H-havoc,” Terror said roughly, his arm going back around the now sniffling boy in his arms. “Sugi, it’s—he’s fine, he won’t hurt us.”

With a doubtful look, the girl, Sugi, lowered the weapon with a haughty sniff, before reaching over to awkwardly pat Terror on the shoulder. He glanced up at her with a wobbly smile, then turned back toward Havoc.

“It’s good to see you, Havoc,” he said warmly, his voice still thick with tears, but as friendly as he’d always been when they crossed paths in the village.

Havoc threw up his hands with a disgusted noise, gesturing wildly at the ship and its occupants. “Yes, fine, good to see you too. _Explain?_ What the kark are you doing with a ship? Where have you _been_? What in the _hells is this?_ We thought you were _dead_ , Terror!”

Terror had the gall to look _sheepish_ , the bastard. “Ah, sorry,” he said with a dip of his head. Always so damn polite. Apparently that hadn’t changed, even if the rest of him obviously had, judging by the numerous scars and haggard appearance. “I’ve been—I was—away. Off-planet. And until now I couldn’t—I was unable to return, on my own.” He paused, swallowing roughly and looking away. “But I’m free now, so—I came back for Dread.” His jaw worked as he swallowed some strong emotion, his fingers gently rubbing his son’s horns as the boy clung to him, face still hidden, now silent.

After a long moment he looked back up at Havoc with pleading eyes, a look that kicked at something in Havoc’s chest. “Who—” His voice broke, and he had to swallow again before continuing. “Were you the one caring for him?”

Havoc shifted on his feet, crossing his arms and looking away from Terror’s wide, wet eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. “I...sort of?” he said awkwardly. “He’s my apprentice. Malice is— _was_ his minder, I just, you know. I kept an eye on him. He’s—” He coughed, shifting again. “He’s a good kid.”

“You’re a good teacher,” Dread mumbled from his place in Terror’s lap, his voice wobbling but warm.

Havoc could feel his face heat under Terror’s approving, much too bright smile, and just barely refrained from closing his eyes with a silent, desperate curse. “So!” he said suddenly, desperate to change the subject. “Now what? Are you coming back to the village?” He glanced from Terror to the other three occupants of the ship, a wary look for the little hunter in particular, which she seemed extremely pleased by. “And who are your friends?”

Terror’s smile vanished, the loss sending a pang through Havoc’s chest that he carefully didn’t examine. “No,” he said flatly, his jaw set. “I’m taking Dread with me, and we’re leaving. They’re—helping me.”

Havoc sucked in a sharp breath, tension creeping up his spine, but...well, he didn’t blame Terror. Who _wouldn’t_ want to leave, if they had the opportunity? “Alright,” he said roughly, his arms tightening across his chest. “What do you want me to tell Brother Viscus? If I go back without him…”

Dread’s head finally popped up, and he looked up at Havoc pleadingly. “Come with us!”

Havoc grimaced, looking away from that _entirely unfair_ little face. “I—I _can’t_. I have responsibilities, kid.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught Dread’s lip wobble, and felt both his hearts thud in his chest with sudden pain. “I can’t just _leave_ , I—if you’re going with your dad, I don’t even have an apprentice anymore. I can’t leave without teaching someone else how to do the work.” He dared to glance back at him, and felt another pang when he saw the pleading slip into something resigned and sad.

He hissed under his breath, the tension in his frame setting him to pacing back and forth across the ramp as he thought furiously. It wasn’t as though he had anyone in the village he was close to, really ~~except his apprentice~~. But he _couldn’t_ leave the rest of his brothers without a blacksmith, the role was vital to the village’s function. He jerked to a halt, staring out at the swamp without seeing, his hands clenched at his sides.

“If I train someone...” he said hesitantly, keeping his face turned away, not wanting to see their expressions. “I could, _maybe_ , get someone up to speed and skilled enough in a year or two. Maybe if—I mean if you need a smith, wherever you end up, I could—”

His voice cut off as a small form barrelled into him from behind, Dread’s skinny arms wrapping tight around his waist, his apprentice’s face pressed hard into his spine. “We’ll come back,” Dread whispered, his voice wet. “Every year, we’ll _come back_ , until you can leave with us.”

While he was still trying to process that, a larger hand rested on Havoc’s shoulder, startling him. Bewildered, he glanced to the side to see Terror’s gold fingers and dark red claws. “We can land here,” he said softly, the warmth in his voice putting a knot in Havoc’s throat. “Every year around this time, we’ll come and wait here for you, and you can tell us when you’re ready.”

Havoc’s eyes burned. With a shaky breath he reached up to place his hand over Dread’s much smaller one, allowing himself a moment to lean into Terror’s grasp on his shoulder. “Alright,” he said roughly, closing his eyes against the stinging. The swamp gas must be aggravating them. “I’ll—I’ll tell the village that you got yourself eaten being reckless, or something. No one will doubt it, least of all Brother Viscus.”

Dread snorted, finally releasing Havoc’s waist. Havoc cleared his throat, surreptitiously rubbing a hand across his eyes, and nodded sharply before turning back to look at Terror. He was smiling again. _Kark_. Havoc scowled, looking away again, cursing his warm face once more. “Okay then. I’ll just—I’ll head back to the village, and—tell them what happened to my careless, inattentive apprentice.”

As he made to reach down for his spear, he felt Terror’s arm on his shoulder again. Confused, he allowed the man to pull him around, but stiffened as he was wrapped up in a _hug_. “Thank you,” Terror whispered, clutching tight. “Thank you for caring for my son. We _will_ come back for you, I promise.”

Flustered, his face _burning_ , Havoc awkwardly reached up to pat Terror’s back. “N-no problem. He’s a good kid.” He honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged him. Were hugs supposed to last so long? It was _warm_. Against his will he found himself relaxing, slightly, leaning into Terror just a bit. Barely at all, really.

He cleared his throat and looked away from that bright smile when Terror finally released him. With one last hesitant pat on the head for Dread, he scooped up his spear and strode back into the swamp. He had a death to fake, and a new apprentice to find.

He didn’t look back.

* * *


	13. Ahjun and Sugi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ here we go!

* * *

Ahjun didn't know how everything had gone so _wrong_. She’d started her planning when she was still a _child_ , and though the plan underwent several periods of refinement as she grew, her goal never changed. She would either be at the Clan Mother’s right hand by the time she was sixty, or she would be the Clan Mother herself. Either way, she would lead the Night Sisters into a new age of sophistication and influence in the wider galaxy. _She_ would be the one to drag Dathomir out of the muck of barbarism, to its rightful place in galactic society.

If only her plans hadn’t been so terribly delayed, when her only daughter had turned out to be such a willful disappointment. The girl had absolutely no ambition of her own, _and_ no interest in furthering her mother’s. But Ahjun had salvaged things with some clever maneuvering, gotten back on track with her granddaughter. She was supposed to be ascending to even greater heights of influence, after finally securing her legacy. She'd gotten the last piece of the puzzle, a satisfactory heir, the final jewel for her crown. She’d even had the ear of _more than one_ of Mother Talzin's confidantes, both of them glancing at her with sly, impressed eyes during their little chats over tea about her heir’s progress.

Everything was going to _plan_.

Then it all suddenly started falling apart, for no reason at all. Where once her invitations were received with delight and pleasure, their reception got colder, the responses noncommittal. Sisters that had once looked at her with a calculating sort of admiration, with _envy,_ had begun to sneer and eventually stopped looking at all. It didn’t make any _sense._ In all her scrying, peering into the bowl as her former friends went about their lives, she never once found the instigator of her fall from favor, never saw anything that could point her towards a target for her vengeance.

There had to be _someone,_ some jealous nightsister who couldn’t stand to see Ahjun rise so high, so she started a—a _smear_ campaign against her! Once one of the rising stars of influence in the clan, and she’d been reduced to a _hermit_ in her own home, shunned by all who should have been begging for her favor. Oh, how her own mother would weep to see her come to this. No. _No,_ she would find out who had done this to her, and when she did, she would enact such a terrible vengeance that they would be—

“Grandmother?”

Ahjun startled upright from her scrying bowl, swiftly arranging her features into a more pleasant demeanour, and turned to look down at her pride and joy. Sehja, as neatly dressed and elegant as always, standing with perfect posture as she’d been taught, looked up at her with wide, admiring eyes, and Ahjun felt her spiralling dark mood begin to lift. Her lovely granddaughter took to her training so much better than her mother ever had, that useless girl. She was even already learning traditional witchcraft at Ahjun’s feet, like a proper heir, and was far more gifted in that area than Ehsun had ever been. A prodigy, her heir was. Truly she was a blessing from the Winged Goddess, now that Ahjun had weeded Ehsun’s influence out of the child.

“What is it, my darling?” she asked, resting a proud hand on her heir’s head. Hmm, she was getting tall. Ahjun would have to start designing her tattoos, soon. Ehsun had chosen her own, of course, and her taste was...regrettable. Sehja would need her grandmother’s guiding hand, lest she end up with something that didn’t suit the heir of Clan Nedot.

“Mother says she’ll be arriving soon,” Sehja said quietly, holding her hands clasped in front of her like a good girl, her voice soft and deferent, as it should be when speaking to her grandmother. “She said she wouldn’t be able to come to meet us for her visit, as she has an experiment in progress on the ship. Can you take me to the landing to see her before she has to leave again?”

“ _‘Will you,’_ Sehja,” Ahjun corrected firmly, in no mood for failures of proper communication. “Try again.”

“I’m sorry, Grandmother.” Sehja dipped her head to hide her face, likely blushing with embarrassment, the poor dear. She did so hate to disappoint her grandmother, Ahjun knew. “Will you take me to the landing? Mother said she wouldn’t be able to stay long, so the visit would be a short one. She also told me to tell you that she would like to speak with you.”

What could Ehsun possibly need to speak to her about? Ahjun frowned, tapping her nails on the scrying bowl’s table. She certainly couldn’t be thinking of trying to take Sehja _with_ her now that she was older, could she? Well, if she was, she would be sorely disappointed. As Ahjun’s heir, approved by Mother Talzin herself, Ehsun would have no recourse to take her daughter off Dathomir if Ahjun disapproved, which she most certainly _would_.

“Very well,” she said finally, pursing her lips in an irritable frown. Even now that Ahjun no longer had to worry overmuch about Ehsun’s... _peculiarities,_ the girl was still being an inconvenience with her insistence on carrying out her silly experiments. “Fetch my cloak, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Sehja bobbed in a polite little bow and stepped lightly out of the room, her steps precisely measured and even, her back straight. Truly a perfect heir. Ahjun turned back to her bowl with a sigh, drawing a claw through the surface of the glowing liquid to cancel the spell, letting the green vapor rise to her nose and breathing it in with a shudder. Apparently there was going to be a gathering the next evening, which she had _not_ been invited to. Perhaps she would finally overhear something scrying on her former allies that would lead her to her nemesis.

With her work room set in order, Ahjun swept out to the door to find Sehja waiting patiently, already wrapped up and with Ahjun’s coat in her hands. She gave the girl an approving smile, threw her cloak over her shoulders, and headed out into the gloom of the Nightsister’s cavern in evening, Sehja trotting along after her.

It was a short speeder ride to the small spaceport, and it wasn’t long before they were pulling up alongside the small ship Ehsun had purchased with her funds from her little ventures. At least it _looked_ decent, not the shabby bit of junk Ahjun had expected her to end up with when Mother Talzin forbade her to use the clan resources any longer. Still, it wasn’t nearly as fine as it should have been, for someone carrying the name Nedot into the wider galaxy. Hopefully once Ahjun took her rightful place she would be able to undo whatever damage Ehsun had done to their name without too much difficulty.

Sehja waited until Ahjun had gotten off the speeder to move, as was appropriate, and followed along behind her to the ship’s hatch. Her energies were fluctuating a bit more than usual, stretching outside her usually rather tight shielding with sparking fingers. It was probably the anticipation of seeing her mother, the silly thing. Filial affection was the one thing Ahjun hadn’t been able to train out of the girl, unfortunately, but at least it had offered another measure of control over her behavior that Ahjun had found useful in their early days.

Ahjun strode up the ramp confidently, making her way through the small cargo bay and into the ship itself. The inside matched the exterior, plain and utilitarian but at least not shabby. Still, even if Ahjun _were_ inclined to let Ehsun take her heir out into the galaxy on one of her little trips, she certainly wouldn’t be after seeing how basic and spare the decor was in the little ship. It was no sort of proper environment for a child of Sehja’s quality.

“Ehsun?” she called into the ship, peering down the corridor with a sneer. “Where are you, girl? Come greet your mother and daughter properly, you’re setting a terrible example.” Huffing at the lack of response, Ahjun led her granddaughter further into the ship, ending up in a small kitchen sort of room. Again, barely furnished at all, and what was there was all in dull, drab, cool colors rather than the proper, traditional red. She despaired of Ehsun’s taste, truly.

“Ehsun!” she called louder, her voice sharpening with her irritation. “Come out here at once, I do not have time to waste on your _nonsense_.”

She turned to look as the soft hiss of a door sliding open came from the far side of the little room. Ehsun, dressed like a common spacer, as she often was these days, was standing on the other side with her hand on her hip. Her expression was still, far more placid than it generally was, but her _eyes..._

“Hello, Mother,” Ehsun said quietly, her voice calm, but so very cold. There was a faint rumble underneath, as though she were suppressing a growl, and despite herself Ahjun felt a faint chill down her spine. “So glad you could come. Well done, Sehja.”

Ahjun turned to glance back at her granddaughter, confused, and felt her breath stutter in her throat as shock stole her voice. Gone was her sweet, obedient, perfect heir. In her place was a feral little beast with a wide, open-mouthed grin showing off her fangs like an animal, gold eyes glowing faintly from within. Her hands were splayed, claws held ready as she crouched ever so slightly, as though any second she would leap forward to rend and tear.

Before Ahjun could so much as speak, a sudden burning pain in her back sent her crashing to the ground with a sharp cry, her muscles seizing as she convulsed against the hard floor. Helpless, she twitched against the cold metal as Sehja crouched in front of her face and stared down at her with wide, delighted eyes.

“I knew it would be satisfying,” her granddaughter said absently, the unnatural glow in her eyes even more obvious so close, “But I didn’t expect it to be _this_ satisfying.”

Dazed, thoughts whirling, Ahjun struggled to regain control of her limbs, but whatever had hit her wasn’t letting up, sharp shocks pulsing through her body from the center of her back every few seconds. “S-stop,” she hissed out through gritted teeth, trying not to bite her tongue as she jerked and seized. _“Eh-sun_ —w- _what_ —”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mother,” her daughter’s voice came from behind her, low and satisfied. “I fully intend on explaining everything, before the end.” The sharp tap of her boots echoed through the small room as Ehsun walked around Ahjun’s shaking form to crouch next to her daughter. She, too, was smiling, a thin-lipped sneer tilted up at the corner with vicious pleasure, one fang fully exposed. A proprietary hand reached up to run sharp claws through Sehja’s hair, and the _little beast_ leaned into it with a _purr_ , as though Ahjun hadn’t spent years raising her, training her, giving her everything she could ever need or want and setting her on the path to _greatness_.

“I’m well aware,” Ehsun went on casually, still combing through Sehja’s hair, “That villainous monologuing is far more fitting for bad holodramas than life, but I want you to know _why_ this is happening.” She paused, her red eyes burning with rage, more rage than Ahjun had ever seen from her daughter. It was a long pause, and when she continued her voice was nearly a growl, the rolling timbre of it inciting a level of fear in Ahjun that she was entirely unaccustomed to. “I want you to know what your _grand ambition_ has brought you. I want you to _fully comprehend_ the complete ruination of all of your plans, at the hands of those you would have turned into _tools_ to further them.”

The last words were almost unrecognizable under the fury, and Ahjun felt a sick sense of dread rising in her chest, even through the pain of whatever was keeping her immobile, unable to concentrate long enough to touch her power. Ehsun was nearly snarling, her face twisted in a feral display of wrath, and Sehja beside her was vicious in her glee. She hardly recognized either of them, her faltering grasp on her power just barely enough to sense their energy, rolling and boiling with hatred and resentment as they dropped their shields fully for the first time in her presence.

“You’re going to die here, Mother,” Ehsun snarled. “You are going to die and be forgotten. No power, no glory, no _legacy_ , just the unmourned passing of a grasping, selfish, bitter old woman. I am going to take my daughter away from here, so she can choose whatever life _she_ finds most pleasing, and Clan Nedot will _die with you_.” She stood, looking down on Ahjun with those burning coal eyes. “You sealed your fate when you took the father of my children away from them. Away from _me_.”

The male? All of this was for the _male?_ Ahjun couldn’t comprehend it, the repeated sparking shocks further and further tearing her concentration to shreds as she gasped and shook on the floor.

Sehja tipped her head and brought it close to Ahjun’s face, and she stared back at those feverishly glowing gold eyes in blank terror. “I want you to know,” the little demon said pleasantly, “That I have always fucking hated you. Thanks for the witch lessons though, that shit will be _so_ handy.”

“Bring her,” Ehsun said sharply, striding out of Ahjun’s line of vision, the sharp tap of her boots echoing in Ahjun’s ears. “Don’t touch skin.”

“Yes Mother,” Sehja said cheerfully, her teeth bared once more in a delighted grin, her voice more animated than Ahjun had ever heard it. The girl hopped up and grabbed a handful of Ahjun’s cloak and started dragging her out of the room with enthusiasm. Ahjun grasped futilely with spasming fingers, but failed to find purchase on anything as her granddaughter dragged her through the ship towards whatever terrible fate they had planned.

How had everything gone _so wrong?_

* * *

Sugi felt many things, watching Terror hold his son so tightly as they waited for Ehsun. Some envy, a hint of nostalgia, the tiniest bit of bitter resentment (how was it fair that _this boy_ had his father returned, when Sugi and her sister never would?), but predominantly what she felt was an overpowering _protectiveness_. She was used to feeling protective, after being the only one left to watch over Ouve. Even Ehsun, once Sugi got to know her better, fell under her umbrella. Not that Ehsun really _needed_ Sugi’s protection, but sometimes she got the impression of a strange almost-fragility from the woman, and it made Sugi itch between her shoulder blades.

Terror, soft-spoken and deferent, ready with a smile whenever he saw someone look his way, sitting on the floor of the cargo bay wrapped around a little boy and biting back tears, had Sugi wanting to shoot someone. With the grumpy nightbrother having already left, though, she was fresh out of potential targets, so she reluctantly left her blaster in its holster and occupied herself with keeping watch. No one came, and while Terror talked to his son in quiet murmurs as they started to catch up too much lost time, Sugi stared out at a swamp devoid of life other than bugs and lizards and the occasional flying creature flitting through the trees.

Gloom was starting to settle by the time anything changed. Bored, yawning, leaning against the open hatch, Sugi was the first person to see the flash of light in the direction of the nightsisters’ compound. She straightened, taking a step forward on the ramp to stare with eager eyes, and a moment later, a distant, muffled boom rolled through the quiet swamp. She hissed quietly, her pulse thundering with anticipation, and looked over her shoulder as Terror hauled himself upright and wrapped his fingers around his son’s shoulder.

“Get ready,” she told them with a grin, then glanced over at Ouve. “Go start up the ship. We need to be ready to leave when they get here.”

Ouve nodded sharply and dashed off, and Sugi turned back to the swamp, her hand on her blaster as she peered into the growing darkness. Even at top speed it would take a while for Ehsun to get to them on her little speeder, and who knows if there were any delays in getting away from the port unseen. Sugi didn’t doubt that Ehsun would succeed, though. Ehsun _never_ failed at anything she set her mind to.

Sure enough, not an hour later Sugi heard the sound of a speeder approaching. Just in case, she pulled her blaster and held it ready, but put it away with a huff of relief when she finally caught sight of them through the trees. Ehsun’s pirate coat, as Ouve insisted on calling it, was distinctive to Sugi’s sharp eyes even in the low light. Perched behind her, Sugi saw as they got closer, was a small, huddled form dressed in red and clutching Ehsun’s back.

Ehsun slowed as she approached the ramp, and before she’d even managed to get the speeder all the way into the ship, Sehja launched herself off it with a shriek and threw herself directly at Terror’s son. The boy, his eyes wide, threw himself forward rather than away as Sugi might have expected, and the two of them crashed together in the middle of the cargo bay. Terror was only a step behind, and he dropped down beside them to wrap his arms around them both.

Sugi felt tears prick at her eyes, and she sniffed a bit as she hit the panel to close the hatch. They’d been separated for _so long_ , longer than Sugi and Ouve had even known Ehsun, and they were finally together again. It was like—like one of those holodramas that Ouve laughed at her for watching, where the long-lost relatives are reunited and they live happily ever after. Sugi knew that wasn’t life, really, that the story wasn’t _over,_ it was just—it was nice.

She turned back to the little family just in time to see Ehsun reach them, her hands brushing over Terror and Dread’s horns gently as she bent over the huddle. “Sehja, release your brother,” she said warmly, reaching out to tug a lock of her hair. “We have to go, now. All of you, get up, get strapped in so we can leave this place.”

Sugi trotted over, bending down to give Sehja a cheerful grin. “Hi again,” she said brightly, still riding the high of a successful operation. “I’ll show you and your brother, Dread, right?” She waited for a nod, then continued, “I’ll show you where to sit while we take off.”

Sehja, her eyes wide and manic, practically twitching with excess energy, hopped to her feet and dragged Dread up with her. Dread still had his wide eyes fixed on his sister, his hand clutched around hers tight and his eyes watery. His other hand reached out and without looking, latched onto Terror’s. Sugi felt an overwhelming urge to hug all three of them, but restrained herself to gently ushering them into the rest of the ship toward the flight chairs.

Ehsun swept past them, her eyes tracing over all three one last time with the fierce, satisfied look of a well-fed predator, and disappeared into the cockpit. Sugi got the kids buckled in, next to each other since neither one looked like they had any intention of letting go, and dashed into the cockpit after Ehsun. She was already in the pilot’s chair, so Sugi dropped in the co-pilot’s chair and spun to stare intently at the side of Ehsun’s head with wide eyes.

Ehsun glanced sideways at her with a faint air of amusement, then continued getting the ship underway. Sugi huffed, feeling her lips pull into a rather undignified pout that she quickly suppressed, and turned to monitor the scanners. If Ehsun didn’t want to tell her what happened that was...fine. It was _fine._ She would just do her job, watch for any signs of pursuit, and let her mentor tell her whenever she was ready.

It took all of a minute before she broke.

“Well?” she blurted out, twisting to stare up at her pleadingly. “What _happened?_ Did everything go to plan?” Ehsun _laughed_ at her. Sugi couldn’t remember ever hearing Ehsun laugh, before. She stared, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sight of Ehsun looking... _happy._

“It went perfectly,” Ehsun said after she stopped laughing, her sharp, bloodthirsty grin sending a shiver up Sugi’s spine. “The bodies were a very close match, physically, and with the damage from the chemical fire, there will be no chance of identifying them even if they decided to try. And there’s no _reason_ for them to try. Why would there be?”

She paused for a moment, her smile turning bitter as she stared ahead as they broke atmosphere. “After all, everyone knows I’m a crackpot chemist with no sense or ambition. Of course I’d end up blowing my entire family to pieces with one of my experiments.” Sugi hissed, offended not for the first time at the outrageous lack of appreciation Ehsun’s people had for her. Ehsun turned to face her, startled.

“You’re better off without them anyway,” she said sharply. Better off with _Sugi_ and _Ouve_ , where she was supposed to be. “And Terror and the kids are _definitely_ better off, and so is Shmi. You belong with us. We’re—we’re a _crew_ now, a proper one. You and me and Ouve, Terror and Shmi and the kids.” Sugi paused, suddenly holding back tears and she didn’t even know _why_. “W-we’re a _crew_ , and you’re the _captain_ and the _chemist_ , not a—a _crackpot_. What do they know, anyway!”

“Sugi…” Ehsun looked alarmed, awkward as always with overt displays of emotion. “I—yes, I suppose there are enough of us for a proper crew now.” She cleared her throat, turning to look ahead again, and reached over to brush her fingers against Sugi’s horns.

Sugi sucked in a sharp breath, leaning into her mentor—no, her _captain’s_ hand, rubbing her arm across her eyes roughly. “Right. We’re a crew. So where are we headed, Captain?”

Ehsun paused, her hand still on Sugi’s horns, and stared blankly as they drew further away from the planet. “...Ah. I honestly hadn’t gotten that far,” she said faintly.

Sugi snorted, but somehow managed to keep it from turning into full-blown giggles. “I...see,” she wheezed, struggling to keep a straight face. “How about we head to Telos IV to resupply, and figure it out from there? It’s far enough away from here, and we can get there in less than a day.”

As though she’d suddenly remembered her hand was on Sugi’s head, Ehsun jerked it back to the controls and cleared her throat again. “Good idea. Go tell the rest that we’re out of atmo, I’ll join you once we’re in hyperspace.”

Biting her cheek to keep from grinning, Sugi nodded and dashed out of the room, managing to keep the giggles back until the door had closed behind her. Trotting back to the rest of the group, she caught Shmi’s eyes first and gave her a grin and a thumbs up, getting a relieved smile in return. The initial idea had been hers, after all, she deserved to know it had gone well. Also, in the few days that the human had been on the ship, Ouve had already gotten entirely attached, and Sugi liked how gentle the woman was with her little sister.

“Okay you can all get up now,” she announced cheerfully, moving over to release the twins from their safety belts. She patted Sehja on the head, smirking at her huffy growl, and continued on through the ship toward the galley. It was much larger than Ehsun’s old ship, with plenty of space for all of them to spread out comfortably, which was nice. Cramming seven people in the old one would have been... _uncomfortable_.

The jump to hyperspace was smooth enough that Sugi almost didn’t notice it, and she sighed happily as she set about making tea for everyone. It really was a _very_ nice ship. It had dipped deep into Ehsun’s funds to get it, but they could make it up easy enough with some information trading, and a few batches of Ehsun’s trickier products. They shouldn’t even need to budget too heavily over the next few months, even _with_ the extra mouths to feed.

Tea steeping, Sugi darted over to claim her favorite chair before the rest of the crew (they were a _crew)_ got there. Ouve, little brat, immediately plopped in her lap when she saw Sugi had the best seat. Sugi sighed, but let her sister cuddle in and send her legs to sleep. Terror hovered over the twins like a nervous eopie with a pair of newborn eppits.

The two of them hopped up on the widest couch in the room, and Dread reached up to grab Terror’s hand and pull him down next to them, immediately climbing into his lap. Terror looked like he was about to cry, _again_. No wonder Ehsun called him a sop. It was cute, though. Sugi had grown fond of him while Ehsun was flying the little ship and she had charge of the rest of them. He was... _sweet_ , in a way Sugi wasn’t used to at all. Even after years as a slave, he was still kind. It was good that he was with them. He deserved people who would be kind back.

Ehsun entering the room pulled her out of her musing, and she watched with a quickly hidden grin as her captain quick-stepped over to her family, barely sparing a glance for the rest of the room. She crouched down in front of them, reaching up to cup Dread’s face in her hands as he stared at her with wide eyes. After a long moment, Ehsun let out a long breath, her face looking pained. Sugi suddenly didn’t feel like smiling, anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Ehsun said finally, her voice rough. Dread’s eyes widened even further, his lips parting on a soft breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. I’m sorry that—that my mother took your father away from you for so long, because of me.”

Dread’s head shook sharply, and he made a soft sound of denial but Ehsun put her fingers over his mouth before he could speak. “No,” she said firmly. “It _was_ because of me. I was blind, too focused on my own pursuits to see the threat. I’ll do better. You’ll be safe here, with us.”

Sugi felt like crying again. She hugged Ouve close, shuddering at the thought of how terrible it would have been to be separated from her, how easily it could have happened before Ehsun freed them. Dread had finally let go of Sehja, and thrown himself into his mother’s arms with a hitching sob. Terror had pulled Sehja into his lap, holding her close, his face buried in her hair. She looked tense and worried, her eyes fixed on her brother even as she curled into her father’s chest.

They would all need time, Sugi thought. Time to get to know each other again, to heal. And while they did, Sugi would keep watch, with Shmi and Ouve’s help.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I been WAITING FOR THIS and it was. so satisfying to write sldkfkfhjse
> 
> updates will continue to alternate with steep ascent, with occasional dips into other things~


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